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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2022 with funding from 
Princeton Theological Seminary Library 


https://archive.org/details/historyofmodernpOOlvyb 


History of Modern Philosophy 


in France 





History of Modern BU esGR BY 


in France 


BY 


LUCIEN LEVY-BRUHL 


MATTRE DE CONFERENCES IN THE SORBONNE, PROFESSOR IN 
THE ECOLE LIBRE DES SCIENCES POLITIQUES 


REPRINT EDITION . 


CHICAGO LONDON 
THE OPEN COURT PUBLISHING COMPANY 
1924 


COPYRIGHT BY 
Tur Open Court PuBLISHING Co. 
CHICAGO, U.S. A. 


1899 
All rights reserved. 


Printed in U. S. A. 


NABERS & CO-CHICACO 





edad Dane U GID: 


A book ought to speak for itself, and the brief- 
est prefaces are the best. Accordingly, I shall 
restrict myself to the few words indispensable to 
the purpose of indicating the object and the char- 
acter of this work. 

Given the intention of writing a History of 
Modern Philosophy in France, it was natural to 
begin it with Descartes, since by general consent 
Descartes opened a period in the history of philo- 
sophic thought, and this not simply for France, but 
for the world at large. 

This History does not claim to be complete— 
that is to say, it does not consider all who have 
treated philosophical subjects in France from the 
beginning of the seventeenth century down to our 
days. Frequently, philosophers of lower rank and 
only moderate originality are not mentioned in it 
at all. The author did not wish to burden his 
book, already large enough, with a mass of neces- 
sarily dry and uninteresting information regarding 
philosophers who are little known, and deservedly 
so. And above all, he did not intend to write a 


v 


vi PREFACE. 


work of erudition, but a history. Now, philos- 
ophers without marked originality—those, for 
instance, who were simply disciples of the masters— 
have indeed their value in the eyes of that erudi- 
tion which wishes to know all there is to be known 
of a certain epoch. But their value is slight in 
the eyes of the historian. For he does not propose 
merely to perpetuate facts and dates; such infor- 
mation is but the raw material for his work, which 
consists chiefly in grasping the connection of facts, 
and in deducing the laws of the development of 
ideas and doctrines. This is why he must concen- 
trate his attention upon the really representative 
men, and upon works which ‘‘have had a posterity.’’ 

While we have neglected the philosophical writ- 
ers whose influence has been slight in the evolution 
of French thought, there are others, on the con- 
trary, to whom we have given much space, although 
they are not usually grouped with the philosophers 


ped 


““by profession. Such are, for example, Pascal, 
Fontenelle, Voltaire, Renan, etc. We have had 
very strong reasons for this. Is it not too narrow 
a conception of the history of philosophy to see in 
it exclusively the logical evolution of successive sys- 
tems? Doubtless this is one way of looking at it; 
but we can understand, also, that philosophic 


thought, even while having its especial and clearly 


PREFACE. Vil 


limited object, is closely involved in the life of each 
civilisation, and even in the national life of every 
people. In every age it acts upon the spirit of the 
times, which in turn reacts upon it. In its develop- 
ment it is solidary with the simultaneous devel- 
opment of the other series of social and intellectual 
phenomena, of positive science, of art, of religion, 
of literature, of political and economic life; in a 
word, the philosophy of a people is a function of its 
history. For instance, philosophic thought in 
France for the past two centuries bears almost alto- 
gether, though indirectly, upon the French Revolu- 
tion. In the eighteenth century it is preparing 
and announcing it; in the nineteenth it is trying 
in part to check and in part to deduce the conse- 
quences of it. 

It is proper, therefore, to introduce into our his- 
tory of modern philosophy in France, along with the 
authors of systems distinctly recognised as such, 
those who have tried under a somewhat different 
form to synthesise the ideas of their time, and who 
have modified their direction, sometimes profoundly. 
Would that be a faithful history of philosophic 
thought in France which should exclude, apart from 
the names cited above, those of Montesquieu, 
Diderot, Rousseau, and Joseph de Maistre? The 


question is not, as it seems to me, whether they 


Vill PREFACE. 


should have a place, but what that place shall be? 
The reader will see that we have not been satisfied 
to take half steps, and the question has been settled 
in this volume in the most liberal spirit. 

In closing, there remains the agreeable duty of 
expressing my best thanks, first of all, to the Open 
Court Publishing Company which offered a most 
kind and generous hospitality to this foreign work, 
then to Miss G. Coblence, the translator, and to 
Professor W. H. Carruth, of the University of 
Kansas, for his thorough revision of the translation. 


PARIS, August, 1899. L. L.-B. 


TA BIRO R GO NTN TS 


CHAPTER I PAGE 

DESCARTES - - - - ° - . I 
CHAPTER II 

CARTESIANISM.—MALEBRANCHE - . 2 38 


CHAPTER III 
PASCAL s - - - ° 3 re 


CHAPTER IV 


BAYLE.—FONTENELLE - : - - : 1077), 


CHAPTER V 
MONTESQUIEU - - - - ° - 139 


CHAPTER VI 


VOLTAIRE - - - : = ° 2 169 


CHAPTER VII 


THE ENCYCLOPDISTS - . - a - 207 


CHAPTER VIII 


ROUSSEAU . - - - ° - 236 


CHAPTER IX 

CONDILLAC~ - - - - : : - 271 
CHAPTER X 

CONDORCET - - - - - - 288 


CHAPTER XI 
Tue IpgOLOGIsTS—THE TRADITIONALISTS - - 303 
ix 


x TABLE OF CONTENTS 


CHAPTER XII 


MAINE DE BIRAN.—COUSIN AND ECLECTICISM - 321 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE SociaAL REFORMERS.—AUGUSTE COMTE - - 352 


CHAPTER XIV 


RENAN.—TAINE - = : : : : a7 


CHAPTER XV 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT IN FRENCH PHILOSOPHY 436 


CHAPTER XVI 


CONCLUSION - - - - - - 468 


BIBLIOGRAPHY : * - . ~ - 483 
INDEX : . . . - = - 495 


Chaat 


DESCARTES. 


WITH Descartes a new period of modern philos- 
ophy begins. It is not, indeed, a beginning ina 
literal sense: there is no such thing in the history 
of ideas, nor elsewhere. Descartes, who came after 
the great scientific and philosophical illumination of 
the sixteenth century, had profited largely by it. 
He owed much to the Italian Renaissance, and not 
less to the Renaissance in France and in England. 
He was acquainted with the discoveries of contem- 
porary men of science, such as Galileo, Torricelli, 
and Harvey. Even scholastic philosophy, which he 
was to combat, left a lasting impression upon his 
mind. 

However, after we have considered all the influ- 
ences, both of the past and of the present, which 
were exercised upon him, the originality of Descartes 
shines out all the more conspicuously, and we see 
the more clearly that he initiated a new philosophic 
method. Hegel called him a hero, and this hyper- 
bole may in a certain sense be justified. Descartes 
had, indeed, no vocation for martyrdom. But 
nature had endowed him with that higher sort of 
courage which is love of truth and devotion to sci- 
ence; and if the name of hero is due the men whose 


I 


2 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


exertions have laid open new paths for human 
thought, Descartes is undoubtedly entitled to the 
name. 

The attitude of Descartes toward the philos- 
ophers who preceded him is remarkable,—he delib- 
erately ignores them. Although well acquainted 
with their works, he builds his own system as if he 
knew nothing of them. He wishes to depend solely — 
on his own method and reason. Not that he per- 
sonally holds in contempt either the ancient or the 
modern philosophers. He is not so presumptuous 
as to believe that his mind is superior to theirs. He 
even acknowledges that many truths had been dis- 
covered before he created his method, but these 
truths he does not wish to accept on tradition. He 
is determined to discover them for himself. By 
means of his method he proposes to obtain these 
truths, no longer mixed pell-mell with the mass of 
doubtful or erroneous opinions, but set in their right 
places, and accompanied with their proofs. Thus 
only do they become valuable and useful. For a 
truth, when isolated, sporadic, and floating and un- 
connected with the truths that have gone before it, 
and consequently powerless to develop those that are 
to come after it, is of slight interest in itself. To 
acquire such a truth is not worth the trouble we 
must take in order to understand ancient books, and 
the time we lose in learning the ancient languages. 
All this time were better employed in training our 
reason to grasp the necessary concatenation of truths 
as deducible one from another. 


DESCARTES. 3 


This is already a first motive, and a quite suffi- 
cient one, for Descartes to dispense with erudition 
and to take no account of traditional doctrine. But 
he has another and more weighty one. He seeks 
not what is probable, but what is true. Now the 
first requisite in finding what is true he takes to be 
the casting aside of the philosophy taught in his 
time, which contented itself with probability and 
gave no satisfactory demonstrations. Therefore, 
though he occasionally retains the vocabulary of 
scholasticism (for instance in the greater part of his 
Méditations), though he even borrows some of his 
matter from, it (for instance, in the ontological 
argument, in the theory of continuous creation), 
nevertheless Descartes broke distinctly and com- 
pletely with the method and spirit of the philos- 
ophy which had been handed down from antiquity 
through the vicissitudes of the Middle Ages and the 
struggles of the Renaissance. Even what he seems 
to borrow from it, he really transforms. Cartesian- 
ism not only has a positive meaning, which we shall 
presently study, but it has to begin with a critical 
function, and proposes first of all to do away witha 
philosophical system which, appealing to substan- 
tial forms and occult causes, claimed to explain 
everything and could demonstrate nothing. 

There is accordingly something more in his atti- 
tude to his predecessors than a mere protest against 
the authoritative method, —a protest which had 
already been raised by eloquent voices in the six- 
teenth century and even earlier. We have in it, in 


4 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


fact, a set determination to consider the generally 
accepted philosophy as null and void, and to 
replace it with another which shall owe nothing to 
the former. A bold undertaking, not merely of a 
reformative but of a revolutionary nature. In Eng- 
land, Bacon, while combating the Scholastic Phi- 
losophy in the matter of experimental method, 
nevertheless derived from it his conception of phys- 
ical reality. Hobbes, however much he may have 
freed himself from traditional metaphysics, is never- 
theless the heir of the later great English scholastics. 
In Germany likewise, the genius of Leibniz is one 
of conservatism as well as of innovation. He openly 
disapproves of Descartes’s excessive severity to- 
ward scholasticism, of which, for his part, he pre- 
serves a great deal, in his doctrine as well as in his 
terminology. Therefore we see his successor Wolf 
restoring, so to speak, a new scholastic system, based 
on the philosophy of Leibniz. It was this philos- 
ophy that Kant imbibed; and later on, after Kant’s 
Krittk, akind of new scholasticism appeared (in the 
school of Hegel for instance), indisputably related 
to that of the Middle Ages. Thus, in Germany, 
the thread of philosophical tradition was never 
entirely broken. 

In France, owing to Descartes, the case was 
altogether different. The Cartesian philosophy 
aimed at nothing less than the utter destruction of 
its rival. It prevailed; and, as early as the latter 
part of the seventeenth century, the victory was com- 
plete. This was both favorable and unfavorable to 


DESCARTES. 5 


the progress of French philosophy. Of course, it 
was no small advantage for the latter to free itself 
from the prestige of antiquity, from the tyranny of 
scholasticism, to regain its full independence, and 
to draw its inspiration freely from the spirit of the 
mathematical and physical sciences, the increasing 
power of which was a genuinely new element in the 
life of mankind. To this the success of Cartesian- 
ism, and the fact that its method persisted, even 
after the doctrine was discarded, bear sufficient 
testimony. But on the other hand, certain dis- 
pleasing characteristics of French philosophy in the 
eighteenth century may, at least in some measure, 
have originated in this breaking with tradition. 
A taste for abstract and too simple solutions, a con- 
viction that it is sufficient to argue soundly upon 
evident principles in order to discover the truth, 
even in the most complex problems of social life— 
in short, a lack of historical spirit, with which the 
French philosophy of that period has been re- 
proached—all these faults are owing in some meas- 
ure to the spirit of Cartesianism. Certain it is that 
Descartes and his followers, in their contest with 
tradition, failed to appreciate its value and necessary 
function. 

Nothing is so significant in this respect as the 
way in which these writers speak of history. As it 
is not a science, it cannot possibly be the basis of a 
school. It may entertain us, but it cannot really 
teach us. It is even liable to beget false ideas, and 
to be an encouragement to extravagant undertak- 


6 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE, 


ings. And, logically speaking, whatever rests on 
historical claims only is insufficiently justified. This 
last maxim may, in practice, have most serious con- 
sequences. Descartes foresaw the attempt that 
would be made to extend its application to political 
and social problems. He therefore openly disclaims 
beforehand this application, which he personally 
refuses to make. Yet if he wishes us to abstain 
from criticising existing institutions, it is in his case, 
as in Montaigne’s, for reasons of utility alone. One 
can easily imagine circumstances in which considera- 
tions of utility would favor the other side. It is, 
then, a mere question of expediency. 

This tendency to claim that reason alone ought 
to be the basis of opinion, because reason alone can 
demonstrate it to be true, and the consequent ten- 
dency to make free use of rational criticism, appear 
in the history which Descartes gives us of his mind. 
Of all that he learned at school, nothing satisfied him 
except mathematics. Hardly had he freed himself 
from the sway of his masters (the best, he says, 
there were then in Europe), when he deliberately 
set about forgetting their teaching. He speaks 
only with irony of the various sciences, or so-called 
sciences: medicine, law, philosophy, as they were 
taught in his day. He coolly turns his back on 
belles lettres, and holds history in contempt. Geom- 
etry alone found favor in- his eyes; still he won- 
dered greatly at its being used only as an object of 
amusement for the curious, and that ‘‘on so firm a 
basis nothing more lofty had been established.’’ 


DESCARTES. vf 


The ground was now cleared; Descartes could begin 
to build. 


According to some, Descartes is first of all a 
man of science, and secondly a philosopher. Ac- 
cording to others, the philosopher in him predomi- 
nates over the man of science. In point of fact, 
philosophy and science were not separated in Des- 
cartes’s view. He seeks to establish the system of 
truths accessible to man—a system which he con- 
ceived as unique, and which may be figured as an 
endless chain. And he seeks it in order to find the 
means of living as uprightly and happily as possible. 
Thus the end which Descartes has in view is a right- 
eous and happy life: wherein he agrees with the 
philosophers of his time, and, we may also say, of 
all times. 

In order to attain to this righteous and happy 
life, leaving out of account the teachings of religion, 
Descartes sees no sure way but the possession of 
truth or science. Now science, in its turn, rests on 
metaphysics, or primary philosophy, whence it 
derives its principles. Therefore Descartes proposes 
to bea metaphysician; but this he will be for the sake 
of science itself. Metaphysics is to him a road, but 
indeed a road of paramount importance, since all the 
rest depends upon the principles discovered therein. 
Besides, mathematics, physics, and other theoretical 
sciences are also roads, the terminal point lying in 
the applied sciences, to which they lead. ‘‘The 
whole of philosophy,’’ says Descartes, in the Pref- 


8 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


ace to the Principes de la Philosophie, ‘is like a tree, 
the roots of which are metaphysics; the trunk is the 
science of physics; and the branches shooting from 
that trunk are all the other sciences, which may be 
reduced to three main ones, viz., medicine, me- 
chanics, and ethics, by which last I mean the highest 
and most perfect ethics, which, since it presupposes 
a complete knowledge of the other sciences, is the 
supreme degree of wisdom.” 

Thus if Descartes is careful to make a distinction 
between the sphere of action and that of knowledge, 
and if, before undertaking the long and difficult 
task of seeking after truth, he provides himself with 
a ‘‘provisional’’ ethics, which he unquestioningly 
accepts from authority and custom, he nevertheless 
proclaims the principles of action to be dependent 
upon knowledge. It is the business of reason not 
only to enlighten, but also to guide us. Descartes, 
believing in the future progress of mankind, consid- 
ers it to be dependent on the development of the 
sciences. We even observe, in several passages, that 
the progress of ethics appears to him subordinate 
to that of mechanics and of medicine. But these 
in their turn depend for their advancement upon the 
establishment of a sound and rigorously demon- 
strated physical science. Thus, although science is 
not its own end, the fundamental problem of philoso- 
phy according to Descartes is finally reduced to the 
problem of the establishment of science. 

Now there is no breach of continuity between 
metaphysics and physics; on the contrary, there is 


DESCARTES. 9 


a natural and necessary transition from the one to the 
other. Descartes attempted to build up a system by 
means of which one could proceed uninterruptedly 
from the first principles of cognition and of being, 
in a word, from God, down to the most specific scien- 
tific propositions of physiology or of ethics, without 
one link missing in the chain. A bold conception, 
which dominates the whole system and is inseparable 
from the famous method of Descartes. 

Up to this point mathematics alone appeared 
to Descartes worthy of being called a science. It 
differs from everything else he had learned in the 
perfect lucidity of its principles, in the rigorous dem- 
onstration of its propositions, and in the inevitable 
sequence of its truths. But to what does it owe 
these characteristics, if not to the method from 
which mathematicians make it a rule never to depart? 
Therefore, in order to establish the science or philos- 
ophy sought by Descartes, it was sufficient to find 
a method that should be to philosophy what the 
method of mathematical deduction is to arithmetic, 
algebra and geometry. 

To apply to that universal science conceived by 
Descartes the method so effectively employed in 
the above-mentioned sciences would evidently be 
the simplest solution of the problem proposed. 
But this solution is impracticable. The mathemat- 
ical method, as we see it practiced in “‘the analysis 
of the ancients and the algebra of the moderns’’ is 
a special method, limited to the study of figures in 
geometry, and confined in algebra to symbols and 


IO MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


rules which hamper the mind. _ How could one pass 
from these processes, which are especially adapted to 
particular sciences, to the general method required 
by general science or philosophy? Descartes would 
undoubtedly never have conceived such an audacious 
hope, had not a great discovery of his set him on 
this track. He had invented analytical geometry, 
or the method of expressing by means of equa- 
tions the properties of geometrical figures, or, 
inversely, of representing determinate equations by 
means of geometrical figures. In this way, Des- 
cartes substituted for the old methods, which were 
especially adapted to algebra and geometry as dis- 
tinct branches, a general method, applicable to what 
he called the ‘‘universal mathematical science,’’ 
viz., to the study of ‘‘the various ratios or propor- 
tions to be found between the objects of the mathe- 
matical sciences, hitherto regarded as distinct.’’ 
Not only did this discovery mark a decisive epoch 
in the history of mathematics, which it provided 
with an instrument of incomparable simplicity and 
power, but it furthermore gave Descartes a right to 
hope for the philosophical method he was seeking. 
Ought not a last generalization to be possible, by 
means of which the method he had so happily dis- 
covered should become applicable, not only to the 
‘‘universal mathematical science,’’ but also to the 
systematic combination of all the truths which our 
finite minds may permit us to attain? 

Thus was formed in Descartes’s mind the method 
which he summed up in the Dzscours de la Méthode, 


DESCARTES. II 


and which was destined in his plan to replace the 
useless and sterile ancient logic. It is inexpedient 
here to explain these rules minutely. We must, 
however, observe that the first one, ‘‘Never to 
accept a thing as true which I do not clearly know 
to be such,’’ is not, properly speaking, a precept of 
method. Such precepts are set forth in a subse- 
quent set of rules, where Descartes successively pre- 
scribes analysis for dividing difficulties into parts, 
and synthesis for constructing and expounding sci- 
ence. But the first rule is quite different. It does 
not Jay down a process to be used in order to dis- 
cover truth. It concerns method only in so far as 
method is not separated from science itself (and such 
indeed was Descartes’s meaning). If such is the 
case, the first step of method—or of science—must 
be to determine accurately by what mark we can 
recognize what is to be regarded as true, and what 
is to be set aside as being only probable or dubious. 
This mark is what we call evidence. This first rule 
may have been suggested to Descartes, as the others 
were, by mathematics. Even as in his method he 
generalized the processes used for mathematical re- 
searches and demonstrations, so in this formula he 
laid down the regulating principle to which this sci- 
ence owes its perfection, and which was also to be- 
come the regulating principle of the new philosophy. 

Thus the famous rule of ‘‘evidence’’ reaches far 
beyond the scope of a mere principle of method. 
Both from what it excludes and what it implies, 
it may be looked upon as the motto of the Carte- 


LZ MODERN. PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE, 


sian philosophy. It rejects, to begin with, any 
knowledge grounded upon authority alone (except- 
ing the truths of religion). Even though Aristotle 
and all his commentators were agreed on one opin- 
ion, this would be no proof of its being true; and 
should it really chance to be so, the authority of 
Aristotle would count for nothing towards estab- 
lishing its standing in science. Nothing can be 
admitted in ‘science. but what 1sevident.- hi “a, 
nothing but what is so clear and plain as to leave 
no possible doubt, or is soundly deduced from prin- 
ciples which rest on such evidence. The whole sys- 
tem of scholasticism: metaphysics, logic, physics, 
thus stands irretrievably condemned zz toto. The 
so-called moral sciences, which cannot attain to a.de- 
gree of evidence comparable to that of mathematics, 
and which have to content themselves with more or 
less strong probability, are likewise rejected by the 
Cartesian formula; in fact, Descartes, as has already 
been observed, had but little esteem for history and 
erudition. 

But what makes this rule of paramount impor- 
tance is, that it establishes reason as supreme judge 
of what is false or true. Reason thus proclaims its 
own sovereign right to decide without appeal. 
What we are to think, to believe, and to do should 
be determined solely by evidence; and of that evi- 
dence reason alone is judge (except in the case of 
urgency compelling us to immediate action). It is 
true, reason being identical in all men, that such 
truth as becomes evident to one of them becomes 


DESCARTES. 13 


so to all other men likewise. Therefore the assent 
given to evidence by one mind is by implication 
equivalent to the universal consent of mankind; so 
that the individual reason which distinguishes be- 
tween true and false is precisely the universal feature 
in every man. 

Nevertheless, Descartes felt the danger that lay 
in his formula. He foresaw the very serious mis- 
understandings to which it might give rise, and he 
endeavored to prevent these by taking multifarious 
precautions. First of all, the truths of religion are 
carefully set apart and withdrawn from the criticism 
of reason. They donot fall under its jurisdiction. 
It is not ours to examine them, but to believe them. 
According to Descartes, we must seek neither to 
adapt them to our reason, nor to adapt our reason 
to them. They belong to another domain. Then 
Descartes makes a distinction between the sphere 
of knowledge and that of conduct; he submits to 
provisional ethics, which is to be replaced by defini- 
tive ethics only when science is completed, that is 
to say, in a still remote future. Moreover, even 
in the province of speculative thought Descartes 
refrains from touching upon political and social 
questions. He censures ‘‘those blundering and 
restless humours’’ ever ready to propose unasked- 
for reforms. Thus, after moral and religious prob- 
lems, political problems in their turn are cautiously 
set aside. Where, then, shall the absolute sover- 
eignty of reason be exercised? In philosophy, in 
abstract sciences, in physics; in short, wherever 


14 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


men generally have no other interest but that of 
pure truth. 

Well-meant precautions these were, no doubt, 
but vain precautions, too. Let reason rule supreme 
over this apparently limited province, and by de- 
grees it will invade the others. If we allow it, as 
a principle, the right to decide without appeal 
between falsehood and truth, it soon will admit of 
no restrictions but those it sets of its own accord 
through the works of a Kant or of an Auguste 
Comte. In fact, French philosophy in the eight- 
eenth century was in the main an endeavor to 
apply the spirit of the Cartesian method to the very 
objects: politics, ethics, religion, which Descartes 
had carefully set apart. By holding nothing as 
true until I have evidence of its being so, do I not 
in advance deprive all historical rights of the means 
of securing recognition; do I not thereby summon 
all privileges, institutions, beliefs, and fortunes to 
produce their title deeds before the bar of reason? 
By solemnly paying homage to Descartes, the ‘‘ As- 
semblée Constituante’’ proved that the spirit of the 
Revolution was conscious of one of its chief sources. 


Being now in possession of his method, did not 
Descartes have all that was necessary to construct 
his philosophic system with absolute mathematical 
certainty? No, for in mathematics the foundation 
principles: axioms and definitions, are so plain and 
evident that no reasonable mind will question them. 
But philosophy had until his time been wanting in 


DESCARTES. 15 


such principles, and the object which Descartes has 
in view is precisely to establish them. 

To attain this end, he first casts aside as false 
(at least provisionally) all the opinions which he has 
hitherto held as true, and which are only probable. 
In order to avoid tedious enumerations, he proposes 
to consider opinions from the point of view of their 
sources. ‘‘For instance,’’ says he, ‘‘having some- 
times found my senses deceitful, I will distrust all 
that they teach me. As I have sometimes erred 
with regard to very simple reasoning, I will distrust 
the results of even the most positive sciences. Lastly, 
I may suppose that an evil genius, who is all-pow- 
erful, takes delight in making me err, even when I 
believe I see the truth most plainly. Therefore, by 
a voluntary effort, which is always possible since I 
am free, I will suspend my judgment even in cases 
where the evidence seems to me irresistible. 

‘‘Is there any proposition which is not affected 
by this ‘‘hyperbolical’’ doubt? There is one, and 
one only. Let my senses deceive me, let my rea- 
sonings be false, let an evil genius delude me con- 
cerning things which appear to me most certain; if 
Ivam) mistaken, it issbecause’)l),am,—-and' this truth 
“IT think, therefore I am,’’ cogito, ergo sum, is so 
self-evident and so certain that the most extrava- 
gant doubt of skeptics is unable to shake it.’’ Here 
then is the first principle of philosophy sought for 
by Descartes. And even as Archimedes asked only 
a standing-place to lift the world, so Descartes, 
having found a guid inconcussum, an indisputable | 


16 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


proposition, set to work to erect his whole system 
upon this foundation. 

However, if according to the custom bf philos- 
ophers we distinguish the sphere of knowledge from 
that of existence, this proposition, or, as it is called, 
Descartes’s cogito, is certainly first in the sphere of 
knowledge; for I may have doubts about whatever I 
may think, but about my thinking I can have no 
doubt, even in the very moment when I doubt. But 
in the sphere of existence the Absolute, that is, God, 
comes first. Therefore Descartes, as soon as he had 
established the cogzto, turned to demonstrating the 
existence of God. He knows that he thinks, but he 
also knows that he doubts, and therefore that he is 
imperfect; for not knowing instead of knowing is an 
imperfection. He therefore has an idea of perfection. 
Whence comes this idea? Descartes examines all 
the conjectures which may be made as to its origin; 
he eliminates them one after another as inadequate 
until one only remains, viz., that the idea of perfec- 
tion cannot have sprung from experience, that we 
could not have it if the all-perfect Being, that is, 
God, did not actually exist, and that therefore this 
idea is as ‘‘the stamp left by the workman upon his 
work.”’ 

Descartes was bound to demonstrate the exist- 
ence of God at the very outset. Otherwise, the sup- 
position of an evil genius, who was able to deceive 
him even when he conceived things with perfect 
clearness, would have cast suspicion upon all proposi- 
tions but the cogzto; the doubt which he himself 


DESCARTES. 197, 


had raised would have paralyzed him. In order to 
do away with such a supposition, Descartes at once 
proceeds to demonstrate the existence of an all- 
perfect God, who cannot possibly wish to deceive 
us. But is not this a syllogistic circle? If the 
plainest argument, in order to be accepted as valid, 
needs the guaranty of God, what will guarantee the 
argument intended to prove the existence of God? 

A syllogistic circle indeed, had not Descartes 
escaped from it with the help of the following 
reasons: God’s guaranty is necessary, not for the 
sake of the evidence, which is quite sufficient in 
itself so long as it lasts (whereof the cogito is a 
proof); but in order to assure me of the truth 
of propositions which I remember having admitted 
as evident without remembering for what reasons. 
It is necessary, in short, wherever memory inter- 
venes, but only in that case. Now if we have no 
need of memory to know that we think, neither 
do we need it to know that God exists. In spite 
of the syllogistic form which Descartes gave to 
the proof of the existence of God, this proof is 
rather intuitive than grounded on formal reasoning. 
In ‘the act of conceiving the idea of the All-perfect 
Being, I see at the same time the impossibility of His 
not existing. The existence of all other things is 
looked upon as only possible; but the existence of 
God appears as evidently necessary, being com- 
prised in the very notion of God. This is no argu- 
ment, but rather an immediate apprehension. It 
is, as Malebranche said shortly afterwards, a proof 


18 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


‘‘from mere vision.’’ The syllogistic circle there- 
fore was only apparent. Descartes was right in 
establishing the existence of God immediately after 
the cogito. Henceforward he could in all confi- 
dence make use of the faculties given him by God, 
who never deceives. He only needed now to fol- 
low out his method carefully, and to link propo- 
sitions together in the requisite order, in order to 
arrive infallibly at the truth. 

Now, the requisite order is, to begin with things 
which are most general, simple, and easy to grasp; 
that is, with the primary principles from which the 
other truths are to be deduced. Physics therefore 
is not to be studied until metaphysics is well 
grounded. Acting upon this precept, Descartes first 
established the existence of an absolute and perfect 
Being, that is, God; for the same reason he now 
proceeds to ascertain the essence of the soul and 
of the body. To reach this end, his starting point 
is again the cogzfo. 

I think, lam; but what am I? A creature that 
thinks; that is to say, judges, remembers, feels, 
imagines, and wills; a being whose existence is not 
linked to any place, nor dependent upon any material 
thing. Descartes has just got out of his universal 
doubt by means of the cogzto. The only thing 
the existence of which he can maintain at this 
point is his own thought. Now, the existence of 
his thought does not appear to him to be neces- 
sarily linked to that of his body and dependent 
upon the latter. On the contrary, he may sup- 


DESCARTES. 19 


pose that his body does not exist, and that the 
perception of the external world and of his own 
members is an illusion. He is even unable for the 
present to reject this supposition; he cannot do so 
till later on, and even then with some difficulty. 
Nevertheless, since he thinks, he is certain he 
exists.;| But, conversely, let. him) fora .moment 
suppose that he ceases to think; upon this suppo- 
sition he ceases to exist, although all external 
bodies and his own body should remain real. 
Therefore, the cognition of his own being, which 
is his thought, by no means depends on ma- 
terial things, the existence of which is still problem- 
atic. Therefore his whole nature is to think. 
‘“You suppose,’’ some opponent said to Descartes, 
“‘that your own body does not exist, and you say 
that nevertheless you continue to think. But 
should your supposition prove true, that is to 
say, should your body and your brain be dis- 
solved, can you affirm that even then you would 
continue to think?’’ To which Descartes answered: 
““I do not assert this,—at least not now. My 
present object is not to demonstrate the immortal- 
ity of the soul. This is a metaphysical question I 
am not now able to solve,—for I know only one 
fact as yet, viz., that I think (and also that God 
exists). The whole question I am examining is 
merely : ‘What am I?’ Now it appears from 
what has been said, that my existence is known to 
me as that of a being endowed with thought and 
endowed only with thought; for, whilst I am as 


20 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


certain as possible of the existence of my thought, 
the existence of anything else is still wholly doubt- 
fulto me. The existence of this thought may pos- 
sibly be actually connected with that of the brain. 
I know nothing about that. I am not discussing 
that for the present. One thing is certain: I know 
myself as a thought, and I positively do not know 
myself as a brain.’’ 

This is one of the leading features of the philos- 
ophy of Descartes, and one which may enable us to 
measure his influence, by comparing what had been 
thought before him with what was thought after 
him. The cogzto of Descartes displaced, so to speak, 
the axis of philosophy. To the ancients and to 
the scholastics (theology excepted), the thinking 
mind appeared inseparable from the universe, re- 
garded as the object of its thought, just as the soul 
itself was conceived to be the ‘‘substantial form’’ 
of the living body. According to Descartes, on the 
contrary, the existence of the thinking mind, far 
from being dependent on any other existing thing, 
is the essential condition of every other existence 
conceivable to us: for if I am certain of the ex- 
istence of anything but myself, with far better 
reason am I certain that I, who have that thought, 
am in existence. The only reality I cannot pos- 
sibly question is that of my own thought. 

Both the adversaries and the successors of Des- 
cartes started from this point. All the modern 
forms of idealism, so utterly different from the 
idealism of the ancients, have a common origin in 


DESCARTES. 21 


the cogito. The tempered and prudent idealism 
of Locke, the Christian idealism of Malebranche, 
the skeptical idealism of Hume, the transcendental 
idealism of Kant, the absolute idealism of Fichte, 
and many other doctrines derived from these, which 
have appeared in our century, are all more or less 
closely related to the foundation principle of the 
Cartesian philosophy. Moreover, the conception of 
nature in modern science must also be connected 
with it. For, as we shall see farther on, when Des- 
cartes set thought, that is, the soul, so distinctly 
apart from everything extraneous to itself, in so 
doing he made necessary a new conception of force 
and life in the material world. 

Now, let us add to the Cartesian formula, ‘‘I am 
a thing which thinks,’’ the following principle, ‘‘ All 
that I conceive clearly and distinctly is true.’’ Then, 
since I conceive clearly and distinctly that the nature 
of the body and that of the soul have no attributes in 
common, therefore it is true that these two natures 
or substances are separated one from the other. 
Not only is there no need of my having any notion 
of the body in order to comprehend the soul, but 
also the soul has no need of the body in order to 
SxS 

Descartes, therefore, had a right to infer that 
““the soul is more easily known than the body.’’ 
This does not mean that, according to his doctrine, 
psychology is an easier science than physics or 
physiology. Psychology as we conceive it has no 
place in the system of Descartes; there is at most 


22 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


a mere sketch of it in the Passions del’ Ame. But 
this maxim is metaphysical, not psychological. It 
means that there is no more evident knowledge than 
that which the soul has of itself, since there is none 
which it is more impossible to doubt; that the 
body, on the contrary, is known only representa- 
tively, and that, far from our being unable to doubt 
its existence, we cannot overcome such a doubt, 
when once raised, save by means of laborious and 
complicated reasonings. 

In order to make all this clearer still, let us re- 
member Descartes’s oft-repeated caution to “‘cast 
off all the impressions of the senses and imagina- 
tion, andtrust ‘to reason alonesjeplherewarcenet 
two kinds of evidence: one which tells us that the 
sun shines, that honey is sweet, that lead is heavy; 
and another which informs us that if equals be 
added to equals, the sums are equal. Only the 
latter proposition is self-evident; the former 
statements, in spite of any prepossession to the con- 
trary, are not so. The impressions of the senses 
are vivid, but confused; we cannot account for 
them, and nothing can warrant them to be true. 
The water which is warm to me seems cold to you. 
Cold and heat, as well as all other qualities per- 
taining to bodies, with the exception of extension, 
are not inherent in them; they are relative to the 
sentient subject. Therefore, if we think we know 
bodies by what our senses teach us of them, we fall 
into error, as will happen every time when, through 
overhastiness or prejudice, we form a judgment 


DESCARTES. 23 


before the evidence is complete. For can I not 
have in a dream all the perceptions I now have, and 
be as firmly persuaded of their reality? But whether 
I am dreaming or waking, it is true that two and 
two are four, and it is trué that I, who think ‘so, 
am in existence. 

Thus, previous to philosophical reflection, noth- 
ing seems to us so well known as the body and its 
qualities, because we form images of them continu- 
ally and without any difficulty; whereas it is not 
easy for us to realize what the soul is, seeing that it 
is not an object for the imagination to grasp. The 
first task of the philosopher consists precisely in 
disengaging himself from the false light of the senses 
and seeking the true light of reason. It is an effort 
akin to the one demanded by Plato, when he termed 
philosophy the science of the invisible, and recom- 
mended the study of mathematics as a preparatory 
training. The body and the organs of the senses, 
far from making us acquainted with what really is, 
are a hindrance to the proper activity of the mind. 
Even matter, which we fancy our hands, eyes, ears, 
etc., can apprehend immediately, we really know 
only by means of our understanding. For the lat- 
ter alone can give us a distinct notion of it, viz., 
the notion of a thing measurable in length, breadth, 
and depth. 

The other qualities of bodies are not really in- 
herent inthem. ‘‘Look at this piece of wax; it has 
just been taken from the hive; it has not yet lost 
the sweetness of the honey it contained; it still re- 


24. MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


tains something of the fragrance of the flowers from 
which it was gathered; its color, figure, and size are 
apparent; it is hard, cold, easily handled, and if you 
strike it, will give forth some sound. * * * But 
now, while I am speaking, somebody brings it near 
the fire; whatever taste remained in it is exhaled, 
the odor evaporates, its color changes, its shape is 
lost, its size increases, it becomes liquid, it is 
warmer, one can hardly handle it, and when we 
strike it, it will no longer give forth asound.’’ And 
yet the same wax is, there.-4eiherefore thismvaz 
was neither the honey-sweet flavor, nor the pleas- 
ant flowery smell, nor the whiteness, nor the form, 
nor the sound, but merely a body which, a short 
time before, was apparent to my senses under these 
forms, but now presents itself under other forms. 
Therefore all I can concezve clearly and distinctly 
about this body is its extension. 


Descartes’s definition of the soul is “‘a thing 
that thinks’’; of the body, ‘‘a thing that has ex- 
tension.’’ This doctrine is strangely at variance 
with the metaphysics taught in his time. The 
scholastic philosophers, who on this point followed 
the teaching of Aristotle, regarded the soul as both 
the principle of life and the principle of thought. 
The same soul which in plants is purely nutritive, 
becomes locomotive, then sensitive in animals, and 
lastly, in man, rational. And though such a doc- 
trine made the immortality of the soul a difficult 
thing to conceive, it was no cause of embarrassment 


DESCARTES. 25 


to the schoolmen, for immortality to them was an 
object of faith, not of demonstration. There is 
neither a nutritive nor a locomotive soul, says 
Descartes. There is but one kind of soul, which is 
the thinking soul, for feeling is thinking. Nu- 
trition and locomotion are explainable simply by 
the laws of mechanics. Animals, which do not 
think, do not feel either. They may be looked 
upon as automatons, and the perfection of some of 
their actions may be compared to the perfection 
of the workings of a clock. After this, we can 
no longer suppose that the destiny of man after 
death is the same as that of flies and ants. 

Scholastic physics likewise assumed the existence 
of forces and occult causes inherent in matter, and 
thought the specific nature of certain natural phe- 
nomena could not otherwise be accounted for. Here 
again Descartes adopts the reverse of their doctrine, 
rejecting zz toto these assumed principles, forces, 
and causes, which to him are but confused notions, 
hypotheses convenient to sluggish minds, explana- 
tions which explain nothing, but merely repeat the 
enunciation of the problem under another form. 
Given matter, that is, extension as considered by 
geometricians, he wants no other data than number, 
motion, and duration. These are sufficient, he con- 
siders, to account for all the phenomena which 
take place in bodies either inorganic or living. 

Thus Descartes’s physical science is purely ra- 
tional in character and in scrupulous accordance 
with the rule of his method which forbids him to 


26 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


‘faccept anything as true unless it appears by evi- 
dence to be so.’’ It tends to assume a geometrical 
form, and all questions of physics are reduced, at 
least in principle, to problems of mechanics. ‘‘Give 
me matter and the laws of motion,’’ says Descartes, 
‘and I will build a universe exactly like the one 
that we behold, with skies, stars, sun, and earth, 
and on the earth minerals, plants, and animals; in 
short, everything that experience introduces to us, 
except the rational soul of man.”’ 

No doubt Descartes imagined all natural phe- 
nomena, and in particular those of animated beings, 
to be less complicated than they really are. His 
conceptions are those of a great mathematician, 
living at a time when physics and chemistry 
hardly existed, and when biology did not exist at 
all. He thinks he can determine a przorz the num- 
ber of the fixed stars. He imagines he can describe 
accurately the formation of the foetus. He hopes, 
by taking due care of the human machine and by 
repairing it when necessary, to protract the life of 
man indefinitely, to conquer disease and even death. 
Scientific men in our days are better acquainted 
with the difficulties of such problems, and are con- 
sequently less pretentious. But the scientific ideal 
they aim at, though indefinitely removed from that 
which we are considering, has remained pretty much 
the same as Descartes conceived it: to discover the 
laws of every phenomenon by reducing them, as far 
as possible, to number and measure, and to discard 


DESCARTES. 2; 


every metaphysical hypothesis meant to explain any 
class of physical phenomena. 

This geometrical conception of the material uni- 
verse was repeatedly attacked by the successors 
of Descartes. Leibniz endeavoured to prove that the 
Cartesian definition of matter was incompatible 
with the laws of motion. Leibniz is fond of con- 
necting Democritus and Descartes, and is wont to 
quote them together. The parallel is an ingenious 
one, but should not be followed up too closely. 
No doubt Descartes, like Democritus, requires only 
matter and motion in order to explain the genesis 
of the physical universe. But, to say nothing of 
the very considerable differences between the ex- 
planation of Democritus and that of Descartes, 
can any one forget that the physical science of 
Democritus and his metaphysics are all one and 
the same thing? Atoms and vacuum are to him the 
primal elements of all things, and, as was objected 
to him by Aristotle, he does not take the trouble 
even to explain the origin of motion. With Des- 
cartes, before physics is begun a complete meta- 
physical system has first been established, and it 
is from this that physics is to derive its principles: 
the primordial laws of phenomena (for instance, that 
light propagates itself in straight lines) are deduced 
from God’s attributes. Moreover, Descartes is not 
compelled by his system, as Democritus is, to deny 
the existence of final causes. On the contrary, he 
maintains their existence. It is true that he for- 


28 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


bids us to seek them out, but the reason is that, 
according to him, it would be highly presumptuous 
in us mortals to try to comprehend God's designs; 
the more so as God’s liberty is absolute and infinite, 
and since, in consequence, His acts may be wholly 
unintelligible to our reason. And lastly, far from 
looking upon matter as self-existent, Descartes be- 
lieves that bodies, as well as all other finite things, 
exist only by God’s express will and constant 
help. Should this help cease for an instant, all 
bodies would at once sink back into nothingness. 

The mechanical character of Descartes’s system, 
if mechanical it be, is therefore far removed from 
the materialism of Democritus. Descartes firmly 
maintained the reality of free-will, to which he 
ascribes an essential part in his theory of judg- 
ment and of error. It is only as physicist, not 
as philosopher, that Descartes may be termed 
mechanical. But in this sense, nearly all men of 
science are so, too; for, to use F. A. Lange’s strik- 
ing expression: ‘‘Mechanism is an _ excellent 
formula for the science of nature.”’ 

But is not, however, the strictly deductive sci- 
ence conceived by Descartes very remote from 
the modern science of nature, which employs the 
experimental method with so much zeal and suc- 
cess? True, Descartes often thought deduction 
easy when it was difficult, and possible when it 
was impracticable. But this was a question of fact, 
not of principle. As this or that branch of science 
(at least, of physical science) is gradually brought 


DESCARTES. 29 


nearer to perfection, we see it grow from the experi- 
mental into the rational. Such has long been the 
case with astronomy and celestial mechanics, and 
later, successively, with optics, with acoustics, with 
hydrodynamics, with the theory of heat and elec- 
tricity and other fields of physics, all so many con- 
firmations of the Cartesian ideal. 

Moreover, Descartes himself assigned an im- 
portant rdle to the experimental method. Anec- 
dotes depict him to us as rising very early, in 
Amsterdam, in order to choose in a butcher’s shop 
the joints he wished ‘‘to anatomize at leisure’; or 
answering an inquirer who wished to see his library, 
‘‘Here it is,’’ at the same time pointing to a quar- 
ter of veal which he was busy dissecting. In the 
last years of his life he devoted only a few hours 
a year to mathematics, and not much more to 
metaphysics. He busied himself almost exclu- 


’ 


sively with experiments in physics and physiology. 
How could he have failed to appreciate the import- 
ance of a method which he was himself so assiduously 
putting into practice? 

‘“ Anticipating causes with effects,’ 
cartes’s felicitous definition of experimenting. It 
clearly shows the functions he ascribed to it. Were 
there only one way in which a certain effect might 


’ 


is Des- 


be deduced from given causes, experimenting would 
be unnecessary. But natural phenomena are so 
complex, and the possible combinations of causes 
are so numerous, that we may nearly always explain 
in several ways the production of a given effect. 


30 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Which is the right way? Experiment alone can 
decide. Let us make a distinction between science 
already developed and science which is developing. 
To expound a developed science the suitable method 
is deduction,—descent from causes to effects. But 
science which is developing cannot yet adopt this 
method; and to discover unknown laws, it must em- 
ploy the experimental method, must anticipate 
causes with effects. 


Descartes had written a Trazté du Monde and 
was about to publish it, when the condemnation 
of Galileo for heresies concerning the motion of the 
earth altered his resolution. Being above all desir- 
ous to work in peace, and to postpone as long as 
he could a perhaps inevitable conflict with the 
theologians, he published only a few fragments of 
his physical theories, and put a summary sketch 
of it into the admirable fifth part of the Dzscours 
de la Méthode. We must certainly deplore the 
loss of this great work, which would throw light 
upon many an obscure point in the Cartesian 
philosophy. But after all, the essential part of 
the doctrine did not lie here, any more than in 
the well-known hypothesis of ‘‘vortices,’’ which 
the Cartesian philosophers of the eighteenth cen- 
tury vainly tried to set up in opposition to the 
principle of universal gravitation discovered by 
Newton, and with which some physicists now partly 
agree in their theories of matter. 

The main interest lies elsewhere, viz., in the per- 


DESCARTES. 31 


fect character of the science of nature, of which 
Descartes had such a clear and precise notion, even 
though he was far from being able to put it into prac- 
tice save in a few points (for instance, by his discov- 
eries in optics). It is said that the man who in- 
vented the plough still walks, invisible, beside the 
peasant who drives his own plough in our days. I 
might almost say that, in our laboratories, Descartes 
stands invisible and present, investigating with our 
scientific men the laws of phenomena. 

If he had lived, would he have passed on from 
the sciences of life to the ethical and social sciences, 
as he had done already from mathematics to phy- 
sics, and from physics to anatomy and physiology? 
This may be doubted. To say nothing of considera- 
tions of prudence, to which Descartes was most sus- 
ceptible, he held in slight esteem the visionaries and 
political’ reformers: ofmthes sixteenth century, and 
would have been sorely vexed if any comparison had 
been drawn between their fancies and his own doc- 
trines. On the other hand, he could not but find it 
extremely difficult to make social facts fall in with his 
method, since, as Auguste Comte very aptly ob- 
served, so long as biology is not sufficiently ad- 
vanced, social science must needs be out of the ques- 
tion. Now, in the time of Descartes, biology was 
still unborn. Even ethics he does not seem to 
have taken into deep consideration. He borrows the 
rules of his provisional ethics from Montaigne and 
from the Stoics. Stoicism, modified in some re- 
spects, also forms the fundamental part of Des- 


32 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


cartes’s moral letters to Princess Elizabeth. Itisa 
peculiarity of French philosophy, that it has pro- 
duced many moralists and few moral theorists. 
The reason for this we shall seek elsewhere. Cer- 
tain it is that Descartes was not one of these theor- 
ists. Perhaps he believed that scientific ethics 
(ethics not grounded on religious authority) could 
not be established till the science of man was estab- 
lished, and the connection of the physical and the 
moral better known. To this knowledge he opened 
the way in his Zrazté des Passions de 1’ Ame. 

All the precautions taken by Descartes, all his 
prudence, did not shield him from the attacks his 
philosophy was to bring upon him, as being ‘‘sub- 
tle, enticing, and bold.’’ After hesitating a long 
while, the Jesuits, by whom he had been brought 
up at La Fléche, and among whom he had still 
some friends, declared themselves against his phi- 
losophy. The seventh series of Odjections, by 
Father Bourdin, express the opinion of this society. 
Descartes wrote a vigorous reply. His quarrel with 
the Jesuits was one of his motives for not living in 
France. He established himself in Holland, where 
he lived a long while in undisturbed peace. But 
as his philosophy spread, attention was drawn to 
him, and as the universities of the country were 
beginning to quarrel about his theories, he felt that 
his life there would soon become unbearable. He 
therefore resolved to yield to the entreaties of Queen 
Christina, who earnestly urged him to come to 
Sweden. But he could not endure the severe clim- 


DESCARTES. BB 


ate of that country, and hardly six months had 
elapsed when he died of inflammation of the lungs. 
Later, his body was brought back to France. 


The philosophy of Descartes was in accord with 
the leading tendencies of his time. The success 
which attended it from the moment it appeared is 
a proof of its opportuneness, and it is difficult to 
determine whether it formed rather than expressed 
the spirit of the age. Doubtless it did both. As 
has been said, the seventeenth century in France 
was preéminently the “‘age of reason.’’ 

Aimez donc la raison; que toujours vos écrits 
Empruntent d’elle seule et leur lustre et leur prix, 
said Boileau; yet perhaps, had it not been for the 
Cartesian philosophy, this taste for reason might 
not have asserted itself so earnestly and have been 
so perfectly conscious of its existence. 

This philosophy of ‘“‘clear ideas’’ prevailed in 
France in the second half of the seventeenth century, 
and from France its influence spread over all Europe. 
Though vigorously attacked in the eighteenth cen- 
tury, both as to its metaphysics and its physics, 
it nevertheless remained discernible even in the 
methods of its adversaries. Locke, Hume, and 
Condillac had not the same conception of evidence 
as Descartes; but their empiricism was as fond of 
clearness as his rationalism had been. Newton 
combated the hypothesis of ‘‘vortices,’’ but he 
preserved the Cartesian notion of a mechanical ex- 
planation of physical phenomena. For a thorough- 


34 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


going and express negation of the Cartesian spirit 
we must go to the end of the eighteenth cen- 
tury. Then the German romantic writers spring 
up, and maintain that the philosophy of clear 
ideas is false from its very principle. Accord- 
ing to them, reality is not clear, and the more 
satisfactory a doctrine is to the human understand- 
ing, the surer it is to reproduce only the surface of 
things, while the essence of them is mysterious, in- 
tangible and inexpressible. . Whence it follows that 
religions, arts, and literatures are spontaneous phil- 
osophies, incomparably deeper than the systems 
produced by the conscious labor of the understand- 
ing, even as the works of nature are artistically 
superior to the articles manufactured by man. 

The philosophy of Descartes, to tell the truth, 
affords but little scope to sentiment, and still less 
to the imagination and to the hidden and uncon- 
scious activities of the mind. It places value on 
evidence alone, whose vivid, but glaring light, dis- 
pels the chiaroscuro so dear to romantic writers. 
This fixed and rigid purpose has its drawbacks, 
which were not long in making their appearance 
among the followers of Descartes. 

But apart from the fact that in Descartes himself 
the rational effort was uncommonly sincere and vig- 
orous, at the time when this philosophy appeared 
it was really necessary. It was a deliverer. It 
put an end to superannuated doctrines, the domi- 
nation of which was still heavily felt. It cleared 
the ground, and set physics free, once for all, from 


DESCARTES. 35 


the clogs of metaphysical hypotheses. Lastly it 
formulated problems which needed formulation. 
Descartes wished to furnish science not only with a 
powerful and flexible instrument such as Bacon had 
already sought, but also with an unchanging and 
immovable basis. Thence sprang the “ provisional 
doubt,”’ with which his method bids him begin, 
which obliges him to test all previously acquired 
information, and which may be looked upon as the 
starting-point of all modern theories of knowledge. 
For this doubt, which affects successively percep- 
tion, imagination, reasoning power, and stops only 
before the immediate self-intuition of thought, is 
itself a criticism of the faculty of knowledge. It 
studies it in its connection both with the outward 
object and with the very mind which is thinking; in 
short, it heralds Kant’s Crztzque of Pure Reason. 
An innovating and fruitful doctrine nearly al- 
ways develops in various directions. The various 
minds that receive it gradually draw from it diverse 
and sometimes contradictory conclusions, most of 
which were overlooked and would often have been 
disapproved of by the founder of the system. This 
is perhaps even truer of Descartes than of any 
other philosopher. Being chiefly preoccupied with 
the method and structure of science, he did not 
hesitate to leave open, at least temporarily, many 
important questions which his method did not 
require him to solve immediately. Thus it hap- 
pened that metaphysical systems very different 
from one another were soon founded on the Car- 


36 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


tesian principles. Spinoza adopted the definition 
which Descartes had given of soul and matter, 
but in thought and extension he saw only two 
attributes of one and the same substance. Beside 
this pantheism, appeared the idealism of Male- 
branche, which proceeds no less directly from Des- 
cartes; for did not the latter say that ‘‘truth is 
the same thing as being?’’ And? doesnot ‘the 
theory of continued creation lead directly to that 
of occasional causes? Locke, who combated Des- 
cartes on the subject of innate ideas, without un- 
derstanding him exactly, has on the other hand many 
points in common with him; the very idea of inven- 
torying and examining the ideas in our minds is 
singularly akin to the critical examination of our 
knowledge which, in Descartes, precedes the cogzto. 
And lastly, into the idealism of Leibniz the Cartesian 
element enters in large measure; for instance, the 
notion of sensation being but a dim intellection, 
which is the central point of Leibniz’s theory of 
knowledge, had already been clearly stated by Des- 
cartes. 

The philosophy of Descartes is therefore a sort 
of cross-road whence diverge the chief ways followed 
by modern thought. Still, outside of France, his 
method has not been followed without restrictions, 
and his philosophy has been accepted only to be 
immediately combined with other elements, either 
traditional or modern. In France, the influence 
has been far deeper and more enduring. There, 
while the Cartesian philosophy may have lost its 


DESCARTES. 37 


prestige rather quickly, the Cartesian spirit, owing 
doutless to its close affinity with the very genius of 
the nation, has never disappeared, and we shall 
recognize its influence, not only throughout the 
whole eighteenth century and in the French Revo- 
lution, but in all the greatest thinkers of the nine- 
teenth century. 


CHAP UR Kis 


CARTESIANISM IN FRANCE, MALEBRANCHE. 


UPON the appearance of the Descours de la Méthode 
the majority of the French public declared them- 
selves forthwith in favor of Descartes. Descartes 
had published the work in French, ‘‘the language of 
hishicountryaains preference,to, latin, wethat ores 
teachers,’’ and had thus appealed beforehand to all 
those ‘‘who make use of their reason.’’ The event 
proved him to have reckoned rightly. Never was 
a new doctrine more favorably received. How sur- 
prising and delightful to see a bold and living 
philosophy, the chief concern of which was to 
‘“suide reason well and to seek the truth in sci- 


’ 


ence,’’ suddenly springing up to confront an anti- 
quated and decaying tradition which had no life 
nor use outside the walls of the schools! No less 
pleasing was it for the clearness and simplicity of 
its principles, which formed such a happy contrast to 
the obscurity, distinctions, and endless subtleties of 
scholasticism. Many women were ardent Car- 
tesians. The Femmes Savantes in Moliére speak, 
as a matter of course, of thinking substance and 
subtile matter, and Madame de Sévigné was on the 
point of becoming a Cartesian in order to show her 
sympathy with Madame de Grignan, her daughter, 
38 


CARTESIANISM IN FRANCE. 39 


who was very partial to Descartes, and called him 
ener tather,;© 

In spite of the rapid and brilliant success of this 
philosophy, and of the enthusiastic admiration 
bestowed upon its author— 

Descartes, ce mortel dont on efit fait un dieu 
Cheziles' paiens]. Sein 

still it encountered a fierce and tenacious opposition, 
which, no doubt from the first, foresaw its own de- 
feat, but did not confess itself vanquished till the 
end of the seventeenth century. This opposition 
sprang chiefly from the universities in which the 
traditional scholastic doctrine was taught. In some 
of these, into which the philosophy of Descartes 
speedily made its way, it was immediately com- 
bated and condemned. In Paris only Boileau’s 
Arrét burlesque saved the Parliament from the 
ridiculous step of an actual fiat forbidding the 
teaching of any other philosophy than that of Aris- 
totle. In Rome the Jesuits succeeded in having 
the works of Descartes inserted in the /udex Expur- 
gatorius. They had hesitated a long while, and 
the rupture might have been avoided had the matter 
not been complicated with ecclesiastical conten- 
tions. It was sufficient that the Oratorians and the 
Jansenists had openly declared themselves in favor 
of Descartes, to cause the Jesuits to oppose him. 
It was for them an opportunity of humiliating the 
congregation of the Oratory and one more means 
of persecuting the Jansenists. Thus the philosophy 


t'‘ Descartes, this mortal who would have been a god among the pagans.”’ 


40 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


of Descartes served as a pretext for most unphilo- 
sophical quarrels. 

In opposition to Descartes the Jesuits placed 
Gassendi, the keenest and deepest of his critics. 
Not that Gassendi’s philosophy had no points in 
common with that of Descartes. Like the latter, 
and before him, Gassendi had proclaimed the rights 
of free philosophy, and attacked scholasticism with 
unusual violence; like him also he was a mathema- 
tician and a physicist as well as a philosopher, and 
in full accord with the men of science of the six- 
teenth century and the beginning of the seven- 
teenth. To this his scientific biographies and his 
correspondence with Galileo bear testimony. But, 
unlike Descartes, he did not undertake to substitute 
for scholasticism a system of his own. Being well 
versed in the history of ancient systems, he applied 
himself chiefly to reviving that of Epicurus. He 
endeavored to restore the real physiognomy of the 
latter philosopher, disfigured as it had been by 
legendary tradition, and his real doctrine, no less 
distorted than his character. He took up again, on 
his own account, the chief features of the Epicurean 
logic and physics. Yet while he was a sensation- 
alist, and gave, like Epicurus, a materialistic expla- 
nation of acquired knowledge, Gassendi nevertheless 
maintained that there is an immortal soul within us, 
and that there is a God whose Providence created 
and rules the world. This eclecticism, the sincerity 
of which does not seem doubtful, served to prevent 
Gassendi from being a very formidable adversary of 


CARTESIANISM IN FRANCE. 41 


Cartesianism. As a reviver of atomism, and the 
defender of a physical conception which was soon 
after to be adopted by such men as Boyle and New- 
ton, Gassendi left a lasting impress on the history of 
philosophy. But the empiricism which he opposed 
to the rationalism of Descartes was not consistent 
enough to stop the progress of the latter for any 
length of time. 

Descartes had always lived as a good Roman 
Catholic; and before laying down his doctrine he 
had carefully “‘set apart’’ all truths pertaining to 
religious faith. This certainly was an evidence of 
his respect and submissiveness; and yet such a 
precaution did not satisfy every one. Religious 
truths are not so easily “set apart.’’ For instance, 
how does Descartes make his theory, according 
to which matter is nothing else than extension, 
agree with the mystery of transubstantiation? It 
seems, indeed, that it should always be possible 
to accord with a mystery, so long at least as one 
does not formally deny it. In fact Descartes tried to 
show that his doctrine asserted nothing incompat- 
ible with the mystery; but his explanations were 
not thought orthodox, and they marred rather than 
mended matters. Bossuet preferred to disregard 
them, so as not to be bound to censure Descartes, 
and thought himself justified in so doing, as Des- 
cartes had not published these explanations over 
his own name. 

Be the truth what it may on this point, the Car- 
tesian rationalism, which boldly freed itself from all 


42 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


authority, even from religious authority, was cal- 
culated to alarm pious consciences, and actually 
elicited from them hostile judgments. Some 
looked upon Descartes as a useful ally of religion. 
They rejoiced to see him combat the libertine with 
his own weapons, and demonstrate, with the help 
of reason alone, the existence of God and the differ- 
ence between body and soul. Others were not so 
much impressed with the service rendered to reli- 
gion as they were made uneasy by seeing reason 
and faith thus deliberately separated, fearing lest 
the side of faith should finally find itself in the 
minority. Besides, were libertines so sure to be 
silenced by Descartes’s demonstrations, and might 
not his principles very possibly be turned to good 
account by unbelievers? Pascal, while admiring 
the genius of Descartes, really seems to have pointed 
out the danger in which the Christian dogma would 
be involved by the results of such a philosophy. 

It was necessary therefore to allay this solicitude. 
It was not sufficient that the philosophy of Des- 
cartes did not deny the truths of religion; it must 
needs show that the consequences of its principles 
were in strict accordance with what Christian faith 
demanded that its followers should believe. Scho- 
lasticism had endeavored to effect such a reconcilia- 
tion, and had found its strength in having, at least 
for a time, achieved it. The same problem con- 
fronted the Cartesian philosophy, and attempts at 
solution were not long wanting. The craving for 
unity is an imperious one; many minds are not 


CARTESIANISM IN FRANCE. 43 


contented with two classes of truths in juxtaposi- 
tion, even if no contradiction be perceptible be- 
tween them; the two classes must, to satisfy them, 
be reduced to one. 

The task here was made particularly difficult by 
the characteristics of both the theology and the 
philosophy which had to be reconciled. Protes- 
tant theology has in the end always acquiesced, 
more or less readily, in such philosophical doctrines 
as were not positively irreligious; this it is justified 
in doing, since it acknowledges itself to be a prod- 
uct of evolution, and holds that change is no sign 
of error. But the Roman Catholic theology, on 
the contrary, makes immutability the necessary 
condition of truth. Not only the dogma, but the 
very interpretation of the dogma is fixed, and not 
even the slightest modification of what has been 
established by infallible and divine authority must 
be exacted to secure agreement with a philosoph- 
ical doctrine. The Cartesian system, on the other 
hand, is positive and clear cut, and hardly lends 
itself to compromises, which its methods forbid by 
strictly excluding from the realm of science what- 
ever cannot maintain itself before the court of 
reason. Moreover, to effect the desired reconcilia- 
tion, and make Cartesianism a doctrine not only 
respectful to but expressive of faith, required a 
mind at once extraordinarily metaphysical and ex- 
traordinarily pious; an imagination wonderfully 
quick and penetrating and able to recognize in the 
Cartesian precepts and tenets the religious convic- 


44 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


tions with which it was itself imbued. Such a soul 
was Malebranche. 


Malebranche was a philosopher, to use Plato’s 
beautiful expression, with his whole soul. Far 
from raising a kind of impenetrable partition be- 
tween his religious faith and his rational thought, 
he did not even conceive the possibility of a con- 
flict between faith and philosophy, if the latter 
were genuine. ‘‘I am persuaded, Ariste, that one 
has need to be a sound philosopher in order to find 
one’s way into the understanding of the truths of 
faith, and that the better fortified one is in the 
true principles of metaphysics, the more steadfastly 
will he cling to the truths of religion.’’ These few 
words sum up the program which Malebranche en- 
deavored to carry out, or more exactly, the postu- 
latum, the truth of which his whole philosophy 
seeks to establish. 

To this end it was necessary for him to introduce 
between Catholic dogma and Cartesian rationalism 
new elements which would cnable him to pass by 
imperceptible degrees from the one to the other. 
These elements offered themselves to him almost 
spontaneously in Augustine, whose doctrine was 
particularly studied by the congregation of the 
Oratory, to which Malebranche belonged. With 
the help of Augustine, he dipped deep into ancient 
philosophy, whence he borrowed chiefly Platonic 
notions, toward which the natural bent of his mind 
inclined him. Thus the connection between ancient 


MALEBRANCHE. 4S 


and modern philosophy, which Descartes thought 
he had definitively interrupted, was renewed in the 
very first generation that followed him, at the hands 
of his most illustrious successor. But Malebranche 
did not make himself a slave to Plato as Scholasti- 
cism had been subject to Aristotle. On the contrary, 
the mixture, or rather blending, of these Platonic 
elements with the Cartesian principles gave to Male- 
branche’s doctrine an original flavor. 

The great work on which Malebranche labored 
for ten years, and which appeared in 1674, was 
entitled La Recherche de la Vérité, or The Search for 
Truth. Yo begin with, whoever undertakes such 
a search is to make a careful distinction between 
rational evidence, the only sign of truth, and the 
false light of the senses, which, in spite of its ap- 
parent clearness, gives but deceitful information. 
Our senses produce vivid impressions upon us, but 
downotienlichten use siheieht. of reason,,.on, the 
contrary, which seems cold, shows us things as they 
really are. Therefore, we must close our bodily 
eyes, and accustom ourselves to see only with our 
spiritual eyes. 

This precept is often expressed in language which 
reminds us of Plato. Socrates, in the Piedo, repre- 
sents the body as an element of confusion and 
darkness, obfuscating the natural clear-sightedness 
of the soul, which it subjects to gross and deceitful 
appearances; it restricts the soul to an imperfect 
reminiscence of the eternal realities, and is, in fact, a 
sort of prison from which the wise man’s soul yearns 


46 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


to be released. Similarly, Malebranche speaks of 
the tumult of the senses which prevents the soul 
from hearkening to the voice of reason. He then 
passes on by imperceptible degrees from the Platonic 
to the Christian point of view. The soul’s sub- 
servience to the body becomes a consequence of the 
original fall; the dominance of the senses over the 
spirit is said to be the result of sin, and the soul’s 
possession of truth to be communion with God. 
‘‘The spirit stands, so to speak, between God and 
the body, between good and evil, between what 
illumines and what blinds it, what rules it well and 
what rules it ill, what may make it perfect and happy, 
and what is apt to make it imperfect and unhappy.’ 

Thus, according to Malebranche, as well as 
according to Plato, philosophy first requires the 
soul to assunie a different attitude from that which 
it occupied before reflecting. Things which are 
visible and tangible, which may be tasted and smelt, 
it first believed to be real: it shall henceforth look 
upon them as illusory. Things, on the contrary, 
which are neither seen nor touched, but are cog- 
nizable by the intellect alone, it shall look upon as 
the only ones which are real. Malebranche has no 
difficulty in establishing the truth of this precept, 
supporting it by Descartes’s principles. He shows 
that the secondary qualities of bodies are all relative 
to the thinking subject. That property alone belongs 
to bodies which we conceive by means of our under- 
standing—i. e., extension. Our senses therefore 
teach us nothing. We think we see the room in 


MALEBRANCHE. 47 


which we are. We think we see the sun. Itisa 
delusion, and itis certain that we do not. It is not 
even possible to conceive how we could see them; 
for in what way could such material objects act upon 
the immaterial soul, there being nothing in common 
between it and them? 

Must we then reject entirely the data given by our 
senses as false and deceitful? No, says Malebranche; 
our senses are neither deceitful nor corrupt, if we 
make use of them only as regards their proper func- 
tion; that is, the preservation of the body. They 
fulfill their duty admirably well, speedily warn the 
soul by means of pain and pleasure, by means of 
pleasant and unpleasant sensations of what it must 
do or refrain from doing for the preservation of life. 
he ot hey represent instanctinus,iand haveuts 
blind infallibility. If we had to depend on reflection 
for avoiding the various dangers which threaten our 
body at every moment, we should very soon per- 
ish. The senses are marvelously well suited for 
this office, and in most cases it is sufficient for us to 
trust to their spontaneous activity. But let us ex- 
pect nothing more from them! Valuable as they 
are for our preservation, they are incapable of teach- 
ing us. Many of our errors arise from our neglect- 
ing to make this distinction. As our senses do not 
deceive us concerning what is beneficial or harmful, 
we fall into the habit of trusting to them in all 
things, even where they can only lead us astray. 

This tendency is almost unavoidable. In order 
to make us heedful of the impressions made by the 


48 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


senses, God caused them to be attended with 
pleasure and pain. A pin’s prick, though convey-. 
ing no distinct information (for we do not even 
know what takes place here in the nerves and 
brain), produces upon us a most vivid impression, and 
compels us to give our attention to it. We thus 
form the habit of judging of the reality of things by 
their practical interest for us; that is, we trust to 
the senses in order to know what things are, and 
in this we are mistaken. 

If, therefore, we really know ‘‘outward objects,’’ 
it is not by means of sensations, since these are 
dim and give us no reliable information. It is 
by means of zdeas—i.e., of representations clear 
to the understanding and which have nothing in 
common with sensations. Ideas are in God, and 
the mind perceives them in God. When it discov- 
ers any truth, or sees things as they are in them- 
selves, it sees them in God’s ideas—that is, with a 
clear and distinct vision of what is in God, who 
represents “them: «Chus, severyptinve) ithe ipime 
knows the truth it is united with God; in some 
measure it knows and possesses God. 

For the demonstration of this celebrated theory 
of ‘‘vision in God,’’ Malebranche depends upon the 
Cartesian principles. He defines the soul as that 
which thinks, and the body as that which has ex- 
tension. An instinctive feeling persuades us that 
these two are united, and we feel confident of it. 
But we have no evidence of it, and we even see 
quite plainly that the mind and the body are two 


MALEBRANCHE. AQ 


things of quite opposite kinds. We do not, then, 
understand how something corporeal—that is, some- 
thing which has extension—can produce upon the 
soul an impression which can be called knowledge, 
or how the soul can go out of itself to wander 
through the heavens*. The object of knowledge, 
therefore, can be nothing else than an idea. When 
I perceive the sun, for instance, whether it be above 
the horizon or not, whether I be musing or dream- 
ing, matters little. ‘Ineonetease!; indeed; my per- 
ception is true, and in the other false, and we are 
not without a means of distinguishing between 
them; but it is never the material object that I per- 
ceive, it is always the idea of the object that is 
present in my soul. 

Beset by the objections raised against him, Male- 
branche gave several successive forms to his theory 
of the vision of ideas in God. We cannot here 
make a distinction between them; let it be suffi- 
cient to indicate the method by which he arrives at 
Enismineor.)) Te: examinecewonevalter-another, all 
the hypotheses which may explain our knowledge 
of ideas. He first eliminates the theory of “‘sensi- 
ble images,’’ which had been derived from an- 
tiquity by scholastic philosophers. This hypothesis 
increases, instead of solving, difficulties, and one 
cannot understand how sensible images, being 
something material, can be transformed into some- 
thing spiritual, like ideas. Does, then, the human 
soul produce ideas spontaneously? It is mere 


* Aller se promener dans les cieux.”’ 


5O MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


human pride to imagine that the soul can produce 
anything. Such a supposition would imply that it 
is endowed with causality. Now, as will soon be 
shown, no creature is a cause. God alone acts in 
the Universe. Shall we say that ideas were created 
by God, together with the soul? A very improb- 
able hypothesis, and not easily made to agree with 
God’s wisdom. It would suppose “‘infinities of 


’ 


infinite numbers of ideas’’ to exist in each created 
soul. Is it not far more reasonable to suppose that 
ideas are eternally subsisting in God? We know 
them when God thinks best to reveal them to us. 


6é 


This hypothesis is not only the most ‘‘practical,’’ 
but also the one which best shows us our depend- 
ence upon God. As space encompasses bodies, so 
does God encompass minds. To know is to partake 
of the divine intelligence. The ideas which repre- 
sent God’s creatures to our minds are but God’s 
perfections corresponding to these very creatures 
and representative of them. 

We perceive ideas only by means of pure under- 
standing; for the world of ideas is a purely intel- 
lectual world to which the senses have no access. 
The worst sort of confusion would follow from mis- 
taking sensations, which Malebranche terms the 
modalities of our soul, for ideas, which are in the 
divine intelligence. But there is no room for mis- 
take in the matter, so completely do the character- 
istics of modalities differ from those of ideas. The 
modalities of the soul are changeable, ideas are im- 
mutable; modalities are particular, ideas are uni- 


MALEBRANCHE. SI 


versal and general; modalities are contingent, ideas 
are eternal and necessary; modalities are dim and 
obscure, while ideas are very clear and luminous; 
modalities are but dimly though keenly felt, while 
ideas are clearly known, being the foundation of all 
sciences. And not only do we see in God the ideas 
of ‘‘outward’’ objects, but we also see in Him the 
axioms of reason, and such truths as Bossuet, fol- 
lowing Augustine, termed eternal. 

The hypothesis of the ‘‘vision in God,’’ the most 
probable, and indeed the only probable one, accord- 
ing to Malebranche, seems to our common sense 
extremely paradoxical. It called forth the taunts 
of his contemporaries, and the well-known line: 


“Lui qui voit tout en Dieu n’y voit pas qu'il est fou*.’’ 


Yet it is a legitimate corollary of the principles 
established by Descartes; and the theories of Spin- 
oza and Leibniz on this point, though different 
in expression, are not very remote from that of 
Malebranche. Descartes had proved that we do 
not know objects through our senses, but by our 
understanding; and that, to the intuition of the 
mind, matter is merely what has extension. Now 
the science of extension is geometry. It is com- 
posed of truths which appear to the mind as uni- 
versal and necessary. Kant denominates them 
““a priort,;’’ Malebranche calls them immutable and 
etetnal. Where lisethem primary, cause .of i these 
truths, and consequently of the whole physical 


*** Fle who sees all things in God sees not his own lunacy there.” 


52 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


world? Evidently not in my individual under- 
standing, which is finite and perishable. It can 
only be in an understanding which is as infinite, 
eternal and necessary as those truths themselves. 
Descartes had already said that all our science is 
true only because God exists. Malebranche went a 
step farther, and asserted that there is no science 
save through our participation in the divine thought. 
We see the truth only when we see things as they 
really are, which we never do unless we see them in 
Him who contains them intelligibly. 

Malebranche, as a good Cartesian, has a purely 
geometrical and mechanical conception of nature. 
‘“With extension alone,’’ he says, ““God produced 
all the admirable things we see in nature, and even 
what gives life and movement to animals.’’ Yet, 
though Malebranche agreed with Descartes in saying 
that animals are machines and do not feel, he was 
evidently interested in the extraordinary discov- 
eries just made by Swammerdam, Leewenhoek and 
several other scientific men with the help of the 
recently-invented microscope. The theory of ‘‘en- 
cased germs,’’ though with Leibniz he accepted it 
as the most plausible theory of the time, leaves 
him only half satished. He easily understands how, 
by the mere power of mechanical laws, the tiny tree 
hidden in the seed will grow progressively, and 
gradually become the tall oak which we behold. 
No doubt the actual division of matter goes far be- 
yond the reach of our senses, and it is probably the 
same with the organization of matter. A drop of 


MALEBRANCHE, 53 


liquid, Leibniz says, is a pond full of fishes, and 
every drop of blood in one of those fishes is another 
pond*® full of) fishes, andm<soy on) ad@.¢njinetum. 
Malebranche also concedes this, but he cannot so 
easily account, by the power of purely mechanical 
laws, for the preservation of species, each apart from 
the others, even to their minutest features. It is 
not so evident to him as to Descartes that with 
matter and the laws of motion one can completely 
account for a world like ours, including the plants 
and the animals. He would suppose something to 
exist besides, not unlike Plato’s ideas, the ‘‘divine 
models,’’ the ‘‘archetypes of beings,’’ which live 
forever in God’s mind, and which determine his 
choice among possible things. The permanence of 
species would seem to him inexplicable otherwise. 
Malebranche here stands half-way between Des- 
cartes and Leibniz. “He begins, as, the former 
does, with a geometrical conception of the science 
of nature; and almost finishes, like the latter, with 
a metaphysical conception, the predominant ideas 
of which are order and harmony. 

We are’ hereby “broughtwback)to! Godii The 
sight of nature everywhere compels us to admire 
the simplicity and the fecundity of her ways. Male- 
branche feels vividly the beauty of nature. But, 
like most men of his time, he feels in her beauty 
chiefly the reason which it manifests. He sees 
imvit; above all thingsmordeéer. he idea of\ carder 
is, I may say, pivotal in the philosophy of Male- 
branche; not only is it the ground principle of 


54 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


his ethics, but it holds a no less important place 
in his metaphysical speculations. He conceives 
reality to be an assemblage of ‘‘orders,’’ corres- 
ponding and subordinate to one another. Above 
the order of the physical world rises the order of 
moral realities, the one being ruled by the laws 
of magnitude or quantity, the other by the laws 
of quality or perfection. The order of grace comes 
next, not to supplant but to correct the order of 
nature. Even in the attributes and perfections of 
the divine essence, order also reigns. All these 
‘‘orders’’ converge in harmonious unity, of which 
our feeble understanding can have but a very im- 
perfect notion. They have led to the comparison 
of Malebranche’s system with a magnificent pal- 
ace—a vast and noble building, the richness and 
majesty of which, while flattering the imagination, 
afford reason supreme satisfaction. They might 
also be compared to the grand choral constructions 
of J. S. Bach, who also attains the sublime by the 
harmonious richness of a powerful creation in 
which order always rules. 


Everything that is, owes its existence to God; all 
that we know, we know in God. But how do we 
know God Himself? How are we made sure of 
His existence? What do we know of His nature 
and attributes? In what measure can we under- 
stand His relation to the world? 

In such a philosophy as that of Malebranche the 
existence of God is not called in question. From 


MALEBRANCHE. Es 


the very first step which reason tries to take God 
overshadows it. If I am, God is; if I think, God 
is; if I know any truth, God is; if any phenomenon 
takes place, God is. Nothing can be or can take 
place without a cause, and there is no other cause 
than God. Therefore Malebranche might well re- 
gard a demonstration of the existence of God as 
superfluous. Yet he gives proofs of it, and he even 
thinks that some of the arguments usually proffered 
are not worthless. He does not reject the proof 
based on final causes. The contemplation of the 
order which reigns in nature often fills him with 
admiration for the Author of all these beauties, 
for there can be no doubt that we must postulate 
a mind in order to explain them. He reasons on 
this point as Voltaire did later.. When I see a 
watch, I am right in concluding that there is an 
intelligence back of it, since mere chance cannot 
possibly have produced and combined all the wheels. 
How then should it be possible for chance and the 
conjunction of atoms to be capable of arranging in 
all men and animals the many various impulses, 
accurate and well proportioned, which we see in 
them, and for men and animals to beget others in 
their exact likeness? 

This proof produces a strong impression upon 
the mind; but Malebranche was aware that, from a 
logical point of view, it is not unimpeachable. The 
most beautiful, the noblest and strongest proof that 
may be given of the existence of God is drawn 
from our idea of the infinite. That we have this 


56 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


idea, is an undoubted fact. The very ones who 
deny the existence of God have this idea even while 
denying. Not only does the human mind conceive 
the idea of the infinite, but it conceives it even 
before the idea of the finite. For the idea of the 
infinite comes to us together with the very idea 
of being. In order to form an idea of a finite 
being, we subtract something from the general idea 
of being, which must therefore have existed before 
the other. Fénelon says much the same thing: 
that, in spite of appearances, the idea of the infinite 
is positive, and the idea of the finite negative, since 
the former represents being as unlimited and the 
latter represents it as limited—i. e., by a nega- 
tion of whatever is beyond the limit. Therefore, 
Malebranche concludes, the mind perceives noth- 
ing save through the idea it has of the infinite, 
and all particular ideas are but portions of the 
general idea of the infinite. And from this he 
demonstrates in several ways the necessary exist- 
ence of God. 

Now, from the very fact of our having such an 
idea it evidently follows that God exists. This 
may be shown in several ways: first, as Descartes 
did, making use of the ontological argument. One 
has a right to assert concerning a thing all that 
‘one clearly conceives to be comprised in the idea 
which represents this thing. Now, I clearly con- 
ceive that the necessity of His existence is com- 
prised in the idea of God. Therefore God exists. 
Malebranche was aware of the strength of the objec- 


MALEBRANCHE. 57 


tions to which this proof is open. He endeavors 
to answer them by insisting (as Descartes had al- 
ready done) upon the following point: that the 
idea, Of thesinfinite: being grime...) of) God} istunhke 
any other; that it constitutes a unique case, to 
which ordinary rules are not applicable, and that 
what is not true as regards all other ideas is true as 
regards this one. Thus, while I may conceive the 
idea of a triangle, or of a mountain, without there 
existing any triangle or mountain, the idea of the 
infinite alone is of such a kind that, if I have this 
idea, the thing itself necessarily exists. 

But to tell the truth, Malebranche transforms 
thiseeproofin idefending ita hey form) of: ithe 
reasoning disappears, and our knowledge of God 
is presented as being immediate and intuitive. 
When wesee a creature, Malebranche says—a body 
for instance—we do not see it in itself. We see it 
through an idea; that is, through the vision of cer- 
tain perfections which are in God and which repre- 
sent it. It might, therefore, be possible for us to 
see this creature, and a whole world of creatures, 
without their actually existing. God would only 
need to reveal them to our vision, without having 
created them in any other sense. But God Himself 
we do not thus see through an idea. ‘‘Creatures 
alone are visible through ideas which represent them 
eveneebefore: the.) creaturesmareu made (pul ie * 
The infinite, however, can be seen only in itself, 
for nothing finite can represent the infinite. If we 
think of God, He must exist. We cannot see the 


58 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


, 


idea of Him without Him.’’ The theory of vision 
zm God thus leads us, when at its highest flight, to 
a theory of the vision of God. To have an idea of 
God is not to possess a representation of God 
(which is impossible); it is to possess God Himself, 
in the feeble degree possible to human nature. 
Thus has the Cartesian proof become blended with 
Malebranche’s own system. He no longer deduces 
the existence of God from the idea of God. He 
refuses to make a distinction between the idea of 
God and God Himself. ‘‘The infinite is its own 
idea.’’ 

Therefore the existence of God is the first of all 
truths, is truth itself, and the substance of all other 
truths, which subsist in it; we perceive them in 
the divine understanding. As truth is the natural 
goal of the soul, Malebranche may justly say that 
the soul is united to God far more closely than to 
its own body. The soul hears God within itself, in 
its inmost depth. When it hushes the tumult of the 
senses, it hears this divine voice which shows to it 
the absolute truth and goodness as the substance of 
its own truth and welfare. Reviving Plato’s well- 
known comparison, Malebranche calls God the sun 
of the world of mind. ‘‘The sun that lights the 
mind is not like the sun which lights the body. It 
is never eclipsed and penetrates all things without 
its light being refracted.’’ Unfortunately, in our 
present condition, being corrupted by sin, we often 
hide ourselves from that light and rather seek the 
darkness of the senses. 


MALEBRANCHE. 59 


We have an immediate perception that God is; 
but we do not perceive what He is. For our sight is 
limited, and God’s perfection is infinite. His sub- 
stance contains an endless number of perfections 
and realities. Nor do we see it in its simplicity. 
God illumines us through certain of His perfections 
only, without showing Himself to us as He really 
is. Our minds can reach up to Him only as to the 
cause or substance of this or that reality, as for 
instance, of material extension. But God is, in His 
essence, the infinite Being in every way, the in- 
finitely infinite Being. Therefore, God alone can 
conceive God. When we endeavor to understand 
Him we limit Him, and by this very act we deny 
Him part of His essence. The most that man can 
say is: ‘‘God is the One who Is.’’ All particular 
beings exist only in so far as they participate in 
Him; but all created and all imaginable beings can- 
not fill the immensity of the Being. We behold the 
multitude of creatures in the infinity of the uncre- 
ated Being, but we do not see His unity dis- 
tinctly. This comes from our seeing Him not so 
much according to His absolute reality as according 
to what He is with regard to all possible creatures, 
the number of which He may increase ad infinitum 
without their ever being equal to the reality which 
represents them. * * * An essential character- 
istic of the Infinite consists in being one and all 
things at the same time, composed, so to speak, of 
an infinite number of different perfections, and yet 


60 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


so very simple that each of these perfections con- 
tains all the others without any real distinction. 
This seems to border very closely upon Spino- 
zism, a doctrine which Malebranche himself deemed 
‘“monstrous.’’ In what does this God, who is at 
once a unity and an infinite multiplicity of infinite 
attributes, and who comprises in Himself all real and 
possible creatures, differ from the divine substance 
which, according to Spinoza, is the one only being? 
Is the difference that Malebranche conceives God as 
spiritual, whereas Spinoza admits of no hierarchy 
among the attributes of the divine Being? But Male- 
branche himself confesses that reason alone cannot 
teach us that God is spirit; this is taught us by the 
Holy Scriptures. Moreover, when we speak of the 
divine intelligence, we should carefully abstain from 
thinking it to be akin to our own. Let us not fall 
into the error of the ‘‘anthropomorphists.’’ Evenas 
God comprises within Himself all the perfections of 
matter, without being material, thus also does He 
comprise all the perfections of created spirits, with- 
out being a spirit such as we conceive spirits to be. 
Yet however remote Malebranche may be from 
‘“anthropomorphism,’’ and however severely he may 
blame those who ‘‘make the infinite Being human,”’ 
he had a right to protest against the charge of 
Spinozism. Though his system appears to border 
closely upon that of Spinoza, it is really far re- 
moved from it. He seems to say the same things, 
but while using the same terms, he gives them a 
very different meaning, for it is a Christian mean- 


MALEBRANCHE. 61 


ino. When |\he; readsminwopinoza )).Deus, vszve 
natura,’ he is indignant at such horrible blas- 
phemy; but when he himself says that he sees the 
multiplicity of creatures in the infinity of the uncre- 
ated Being, he congratulates himself on being led by 
his reason to repeat the saying of Paul the apostle: 
In Himwe live and move and have our being. Listen 
to the first words of the Méditations chrétiennes: 
‘“‘As I am convinced that the eternal.Word is the 
universal Reason of spirits, and that this same Word, 
when incarnate, is the author and perfector of our 
faith, I believe I ought to have Him speak in these 
Meditations as the true Master who teaches all men 
by virtue of Fis authority and by the evidence of His 
lights.’’ 

We thus have two revelations confirming each 
other: the one was manifested in the Scriptures, 
the other is expressed to every man by his own 
reason. Thence, though God may be incompre- 
hensible as regards His substance, He has revealed 
to us enough of Himself for us to adore Him. In- 
asmuch as He illumines us, and lets us participate 
through our reason in the realm of pure intellect, 
and in the love He causes us to have for Him, loves 
Himself, He becomes once again a God of wisdom, 
goodness and justice. The moral idea of order did 
not occur in Spinoza, since, according to him, God 
is necessarily all that He may be, and all his attri- 
butes are equal. Malebranche, on the contrary, 
says that God esteems and loves all things in pro- 
portion as they are lovable and estimable. He has 


62 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


an invincible love for the immutable order which 
consists and can consist only in the relations of 
perfection between His attributes and the ideas 
which He comprises within His substance. In this 
we are far from Spinoza and again very near Leibniz. 
Like the latter, Malebranche appeals to the principle 
of sufficient reason (though he does not yet call it 
by this name) in order to explain, so far as the mys- 
tery of creation permits, the choice made by the 
divine will among an infinity of possible worlds. 
He then proceeds to explain the relation between 
the order of nature and that of grace; he shows 
how God foresaw from all eternity that the fall of 
man would be followed by the redemption, and how 
the supernatural or miraculous order does not dis- 
turb the natural order, but makes it complete. The 
transition from metaphysics to Christian theology 
is made imperceptibly, and it is the very character- 
istic of Malebranche’s system that we cannot tell 
the moment when this transition takes place. 


There is but one cause in the universe, and that 
is God. For a cause is that which produces or en- 
genders an effect, and brings it to pass. Being a 
cause, then, means creating something, a power 
which belongs to God alone. Therefore, to sup- 
pose that a creature may be the cause of anything 
whatever is to make it divine and to participate 
in the most dangerous error of the ancient philoso- 
phy. It means falling into the sin of pride, and 
failing to recognize the dependence of all creatures 


MALEBRANCHE. 63 


upon God. This appears evident enough if we 
consider only the essence of God, that of creatures, 
and the notion of cause; but it may also be shown 
by means of the principles laid down by Descartes. 

The universe known to us is composed of spirits 
and bodies; that is to say, of thinking souls, and of 
objects with the quality of extension. Malebranche 
argues that a spirit never acts upon a body, nora 
body upon a spirit, nora body upona body. Spirits 
indeed communicate with one another, but only 
through God; for God encompasses all spirits as 
space encompasses all bodies. 

To say that the spirit never acts upon the body 
seems contrary to experience. If I wz//to move my 
arm, I move it; is not my volition the cause of the 
motion of my arm? No, answers Malebranche, 
unless you simply mean by ‘“‘cause’’ the antecedent 
which regularly precedes a given phenomenon. But 
what produces 


é¢ 9 


if the word ‘‘cause’’ means to you 
the phenomenon, then when you say that your 
volition is the cause of the motion of your arm, 
you go beyond what is known to you. All that 
you are conscious of is your volition, accompanied 
by a confused feeling of effort, and then the motion 
of your arm. But ow the volition produces the 
motion is so little evident that you have no idea 
of it. In order to move your arm, you must have 
animal spirits, and send them through certain 
nerves into certain muscles which they swell or 
shorten, for this is how the arm attached to them 
moves, or else we do not yet know how it is done, 


64 +. MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


as some others think. And we see that men who 
do not even know whether they have spirits, nerves 
and muscles, move their arms, and indeed move 
them more skillfully and easily than those who are 
most versed in anatomy. ‘Therefore, to say that 
my volition is the cause of the motion of my arm, 
is to give for the fact an explanation which I do not 
even understand, and which isa wrong one. But 
to say that God has willed that every time I 
have this or that volition, this or that motion is 
to take place in my arm, is an intelligible and 
satisfactory explanation, for it is certain that God 
is an efficient cause. So my volition is but the 
occasional cause of the motion of my arm. God 
is the real cause. A true cause, Malebranche says 
with deep meaning, is a cause between which and 
its effect the mind perceives a necessary connection. 
Now, this necessary connection I do not perceive 
between my volition and my movements. Experi- 
ence alone makes it known to me. 


A similar demonstration is given concerning the 
alleged action of the body upon the mind. A pin 
pricks my finger; is it not evident that this prick 
is the cause of the pain I immediately feel? Not 
at all, answers Malebranche. All that experience 
teaches me is, that when a pin pricks me I feel pain; 
but it does not teach me that the pin acts upon my 
mind, or has any power whatever. Here again a 
relation of constant succession is wrongly trans- 
formed into one of causality. And we are not to 


MALEBRANCHE. 65 


bring forward, as an explanation of the action of 
the body upon the soul, a ‘‘power resulting from 
their union,’’ as Descartes had done. Malebranche 
opposes Descartes by means of Descartes himself. 
This ‘‘ power’ 
to the ‘‘occult qualities’’ of scholastic philosophers? 
In fact we cannot understand how a substance, the 


b) 


is not a clear idea; are we to return 


whole nature of which is to have extension (the body) 
can produce the slightest modification in another 
substance (the soul), which has no extension. And 
since the fundamental principle in the Cartesian 
method is to hold nothing as true unless we conceive 
it clearly and distinctly, we must not accept the 
notion of the body acting upon the soul, which 
notion must needs be a confused one. It is an in- 
stinctive feeling, says Malebranche, which persuades 
me that my soul is united to my body, or that my 
body is a part of my being; I have no evidence 
of it. If philosophers were to judge by the evi- 
dence and light of reason, they would soon recog- 
nize that the mind and the body are two things of 
exactly opposite kinds; that the mind cannot through 
itself be united to the body, and that only through 
the union between ourselves and God is the soul 
wounded when the body is struck. 

Lastly, the body does not act upon the body. 
For, if the essence of the body is extension, it is 
evident that bodies may be moved, but cannot 
move of their own accord. The notion of force or 
power has no connection whatever with the defini- 
tion of the body. So that we never really see a 


66 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


body modifying the state of another body. We 
see the modification following the meeting of the 
two bodies. We may say correctly that this meet- 
ing is the constant antecedent of the phenomenon. 
But we have no right to say that it is the cause of 
it, for we do not even understand how it could pos- 
sibly produce it. 

Such then is the greatest, the most fruitful and 
the most necessary of all principles. We find in 
the universe but the occasional causes of the effects 
which God Himself produces. And as God does 
not act by means of particular volitions, He has 
regulated all the ‘‘infinitely infinite’’ combinations 
of physical with physical and of physical with moral 
things in such a way that phenomena appear to us 
as subjected to necessary laws, and that like causes 
always produce like effects. We may indeed go on 
using the current language; we may say that the 
soul moves its body; that it is influenced by the 
impressions the body receives, and that bodies in 
motion transmit to each other part of their momen- 
tum. We may do this, just as we say that the sun 
rises or sets. It is enough if we know that all the 
causes we speak of are purely occasional, and that 
the only real cause is God. 

This remarkable theory marks a decisive stage 
in the history of philosophy. With regard to the 
past, it completes the Cartesian revolution, and con- 
summates the defeat of scholastic physics. Des- 
cartes, in his conception of nature, had gone so far 
as to dispense with the ‘‘nutritive soul,’’ the ‘‘loco- 


MALEBRANCHE. 67 


motor soul’’ and the ‘‘sensient soul,’’ but chose to 
explain all phenomena by the laws of motion only. 
It is the very idea of “‘nature’’ that Malebranche 
attacks. The religion of the ancients made nature 
divine. The philosophy of Aristotle saw in the 
giots the inward power which gives to beings their 
shape and growth, and builds the ascending scale 
of genera and species. Malebranche shows that 
nature is but a word, a delusion, which the philoso- 
phy of clear ideas drives away. ‘“‘I owe nothing to 
my nature, nothing to the imaginary nature of phi- 
losophers. I owe everything to God and His de- 
crees.’’ Natural causality is the last of the ‘‘occult 
qualities’’; it must disappear like the others. God 
has linked His works together, but He has not 
created any linking entities between them. In short, 
as a worthy successor of Descartes, Malebranche 
replaces the confused scholastic notion of cause by 
the clear scientific notion of daw. 

In this he forestalls the future. Before Leibniz, 
Hume or Kant he showed the importance of the 
idea of causality in metaphysics. His criticism 
of the common notion of cause is a masterly one. 
Not even Hume excels him in showing that the con- 
nection between cause and effect escapes us pre- 
cisely where we think we lay hold of it, and there- 
fore that it is not a notion due to experience. 

Malebranche speaks a metaphysical and theo- 
logical language. ‘Strip his thought of this form, 
preserve the substance and give it a definite expres- 
sion, and no theory of causality agrees better than 


68 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


his with the spirit and practice of modern science. 
Bacon, and after him Descartes, had already recog- 
nized that the science of nature is not concerned 
with final causes. Malebranche goes a step further. 
He exempts it even from seeking after efficient 
causes, or after any causes whatever. Henceforth 
science will only have to determine constant suc- 
cessions, “‘reciprocal modalities,’’ and to state how 
such and such a phenomenon varies when a cer- 
tain other phenomenon undergoes a given change. 
Now, this is exactly the point of view of modern 
physics. This science has wisely ceased to inquire 
why opium makes us sleep, and restricts its atten- 
tion to phenomena and the laws of phenomena. 
What Malebranche says of the relation between 
body and soul, and of the action which bodies 
exercise upon one another, is no less apt to please 
our scientific men. On this point none ever con- 
tributed more than this great metaphysician to 
purge positive science of the popular metaphysics 
which for so long a time falsified its definitions and 
paralyzed its progress. In this sense, the theory 
of occasional causes is a worthy sequel to the 
Cartesian theory of science. 


Although we may see all things in God, it does 
not follow that we do so. We see in God only 
things of which we have an idea; and there are 
things which we see without any ideas. Among 
the latter, Malebranche reckons the soul. The 
soul knows itself through feeling, or, as he calls it, 


MALEBRANCHE. 69 


through consciousness. We know of our soul only 
what we feel taking place within ourselves. Male- 
branche here differs from Descartes, and the reasons 
he gives for doing so are interesting. 

The soul, Descartes had said, is more easily 
known than the body. In a certain sense Male- 
branche admits this, but he wishes to make a dis- 
tinction. True, the existence of the soul is 
more easily known than that of the body, and up 
to this point Descartes is right. For it is sufficient 
for the soul to think in order to know that it exists, 
whereas the soul may have a clear notion of the 
body without proving the existence of the latter. 
But, on the other hand, the nature of the soul is 
not so well known to us as that of the body. For, 
turning away from the senses and the imagination, 
let us conceive bodies in their essence, i. e., in their 
idea, which is one of extension; there is no clearer 
and more perfect knowledge than this. This 
idea permits us to construct every figure which may 
be drawn in space, and to evolve all the properties 
of these figures; a science is opened to us which 
has no other limits than those set by the weakness 
of our intellect. This idea is ‘‘a quite luminous 
one.’’ What is wanting to our knowledge of ex- 
tension of figures and of motion is not a defect of 
the idea which represents them, but of our mind 
that considers them. 

Can I say the same thing concerning the knowl- 
edge of the soul? Can I undertake to build such a 
science a priort, as I do geometry? Can I form a 


7O MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


““quite luminous’’ idea of this? Impossible. Ex- 
perience alone informs me of what is taking place 
within my soul, and I have no means of ascertain- 
ing what it does not reveal to me. My inward con- 
sciousness teaches me that I am, think, will and 
suffer; but it does not inform me what I am, the 
nature of my thought, of my will, of my feelings, 
of my passions, of my pains. Even the facts of 
which consciousness advises me, it does not show 
me clearly and distinctly. I do not understand, 
for instance, the relation between one state of my 
soul and the concomitant or following state, be- 
tween a given idea and the pain following it; I 
cannot analyze a state of the soul and reduce it to 
its constituent elements as I might reduce to its 
elements a figure in space and determine its proper- 
ties a priort. When I feel a pain, I feel it without 
knowing it; God, who has the idea of my soul, 
knows that pain without feeling it. 

If I had this idea, which God in His wisdom has 
denied me, if the substance of my soul were “‘lu- 
minous’’ to me, I should only have to examine this 
idea in order to know, independently of and previ- 
ous to experience, what I should feel in a given 
contingency. I should not require to hear a con- 
cert in order to know how sweet harmony is, or to 
taste a fruit in order to know its flavor. How many 
modifications of the soul are known to me? A 
very limited number, no doubt, in comparison with 
all those that are possible. A mere piece of wax 
may undergo an endless number of modifications, 


MALEBRANCHE. Wo 


since it may assume every geometrical shape known 
to us, and an infinite number of other shapes be- 
sides. Is it not likely that the soul, ‘“‘which is far 
nobler than the body,’’ may undergo innumerable 
modifications, but that I am ignorant of these be- 
cause the substance of the soul is hidden from me? 

Thus we do not know all the modifications of 
which our soul is capable; we know only a part of 
them, and that an infinitely small one. And the 
little that we know does not enlighten us concern- 
ing its nature, for, to use Malebranche’s powerful 
expression, whereas ideas are ‘‘light,’’ our modali- 
ties are ‘‘darkness.’’ 
that darkness; it is meant for our own good. 
If we had as clear a notion of the soul as we 
have of the body, it would show us too plainly how 
different the former is from the latter, thus weaken- 
ing the union between soul and body which was 
designed by God. The very contemplation of the 
idea of space is to the geometrician a source of in- 
comparable delight; what pleasure would not have 
been afforded to man by a similar contemplation of 
the idea of the soul! In an ecstacy of delight he 
would have forgotten to “‘lead his body out to 
pasture.’’ Therefore, God has done wisely in giv- 
ing us but a very imperfect view of our soul, though 
sufficient for this life. We know enough about it 
to be persuaded of the spirituality of the soul, of 
its immortality, of its freedom, and of a few other 
attributes which we must not ignore. We know 
but little, but what we know is not false. In this 


But let us not complain of 


72 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


way we escape from another great danger. If we 
knew our soul through an idea, if its substance were 
cognizable by us, we might believe we were ‘‘our 
own lights,’’ and thence fall into the worst mistake 
a creature can commit—i. e., to believe ourselves 
able to do something of our own power, attributing 
to ourselves an impious independence, and infring- 
ing upon the prerogatives of God, who alone is a 
cause. puch eaathought > ise borible, ato eNlales 
branche. Hereafter, when our body shall be clad 
in immortality, when we are freed from sin, God will 
probably grant us the contemplation of spirits in 
their essence. 

Let us lay aside these considerations, which 
border upon theology. Malebranche’s theory of 
the self-knowledge of the soul teemed with philo- 
sophical consequences. It led his successors to 
reflect on the nature, limits and range of conscious- 
ness; it even forestalled the distinction which Kant 
was to establish later on between “‘empirical con- 
sciousness,’ which merely informs us of the phenom- 
ena of our soul, and the strictly intellectual function 
of the understanding, that is, the thought’s con- 
sciousness of itself. Finally, by showing the slight 
and fragmentary nature of our knowledge of mental 
facts, Malebranche opened the way for the theory 
of the unconscious life of the soul, which was to 
receive so much attention. 


Malebranche’s ethics is closely linked to the 
rest of his system, being, like the latter, both ra- 


MALEBRANCHE. vies 


tional and Christian. Silence your senses, imagin- 
ation and passions, and you shall hear the pure 
voice of the inward truth, the clear and evident 
answers of ourcommon Master. He teaches us not 
only what we are to believe, but also what we are 
to do. He reveals to us, along with what is true, 
what is beautiful and good, for he shows us the re- 
lations of perfection among things, and the order 
in which we should prefer them one to another. 
Above all, he shows us the very principle of order— 
i. e., the supremely wise and kind Being who gives 
us existence, thought and will. When we lavish 
upon finite beings, save by His express command, 
the love which God intends for Himself: in a word, 
when we disobey him, we do wrong and we are sinful. 
Shall we say that it is God—being the only cause 
in the universe—who acts within us, and that.we 
are not responsible for our sins; that He has per- 
mitted, if not decreed them? Malebranche replies 
to this formidable objection. It is true we have no 
existence or activity save by God’s will. His will, 
to be sure, makes us seek our own happiness, but it 
does not make us seek it in the gratification of the 
senses rather than in obedience to Himself. If being 
able to sin is a power, this power we have. We have 
sufficient liberty not to cast on the all-perfect Being 
the responsibility for our sins. God is just, and we 
were all born under the curse of original sin. 

We shall not follow Malebranche through his 
theological explanations. Let us come back to the 
purely human domain of moral things, and ob- 


74 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


serve that he has spoken of these with remarkable 
aptness and penetration. This ‘‘meditative’’ man 
is a keen observer of human nature. Those parts of 
the Recherche de la Vérité which treat of the errors 
caused by our imagination, our inclination, or our 
passions are justly celebrated. Being pleasant and 
lively, they contributed in no small degree to the 
success of the work. They won to it a great many 
readers who, though not engrossed in metaphysics, 
were charmed by the originality and liveliness of the 
author’s moral reflections. 

Malebranche often opposes his ethics to that of 
the Stoics. The latter in his eyes represent hea- 
then pride, and their virtues are but vices to a 
Christian soul that knows nature to be powerless 
without God. He combats their paradoxes, he 
maintains that pain is an evil, and that men must 
needs seek happiness. Nor does he agree that man, 
in his present state, being closely bound to the 
body, can suppress its passions; and this indeed 
is no duty, as the passions are not essentially evil. 
Only we do not make use of our passions as we 
should. There are beneficent passions, as, for in- 
stance, the desire to discover the truth, to acquire 
sufficient light to regulate our behavior, to be useful 
to others, etc.; there are also wrong or dangerous 
ones, as a desire to acquire reputation, to gain cer- 
tain standing, to rise above our fellow-creatures. 
* * * And it often happens that even our most 
irrational passions more strongly urge us to seek 
the truth, and afford us more pleasant consola- 


MALEBRANCHE. gis 


tions for the pains we find therein than the most 
righteous and rational passions would. Male- 
branche excels in discovering the hidden motives of 
human actions; in pointing out the means of com- 
bating them when we must, and of turning them to 
good account when we can. He has a most deli- 
cate psychological sense, and his clear-sightedness 
may even occasionally pe merciless. The passage 
in which he perforates the vanity of Montaigne is a 
little masterpiece. 


A general view of Malebranche’s works shows 
that he carried out the program he had set for him- 
self. He established the conformity of his rational 
doctrine with the Christian dogma, without the lat- 
ter being altered, and without reason being obliged 
to give up its rights. This agreement is not 
brought about by dialectical tricks, by prodigious 
feats of dexterity and suppleness, leaving upon the 
reader’s mind an uncomfortable feeling of perplex- 
ity. We do not wonder, as we sometimes do with 
Leibniz, whether the author is entirely sincere, 
‘and whether he does not seek the reconciliation 
merely for the sake of peace. Malebranche pro- 
duces quite another impression, and a perfectly 
genuine one. We feel that he clings with his whole 
soul to his faith and his philosophy. ‘‘O! Theo- 
dore,’’ he exclaims in one of his finest Autretiens 
sur la Métaphysique, ‘‘how clear your principles are, 
how solid, how worthy of a Christian! And how 
lovely and touching they are also!’’ Malebranche’s 


76 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


philosophical thought is perfectly sincere. He is 
checked by no after-thought and paralyzed by no 
timidity. He shrinks from no correctly deduced 
consequences. What need has he to fear, since 
reason and the divine Word are one? Hence reason 
cannot, if its method is sound, come to any conclu- 
sion which may alarm a Christian conscience. 

An admirable metaphysical system was the fruit 
of such candid boldness and pious temerity. Male- 
branche was thereby enabled to say, as a Christian, 
a great part of what Spinoza said as a free-thinker. 
He could, at the same time, be the idealist that had 
not distinctly appeared in Descartes; and this he 
was, with a fine logical passion. He paved the way 
for Berkeley, Hume and Kant. His glory was 
great while he lived, and his influence remained 
considerable in the eighteenth century in France 
and in England. In our days, his doctrine seems 
to have sunk somewhat into the background, be- 
tween Descartes, from whom he proceeds, and the 
idealistic philosophers who came after him. But 
aside from the fact that these philosophers owe to 
him many of their leading ideas, Malebranche still 
has the merit, rare in-all countries and unique in 
France, of having built up a religious philosophy 
which is not merely a philosophy inspired by 
religion. 


CHAP IE Ker ht I. 


PASCAL. 


It seems equally difficult to decide whether to 
include Pascal among the French philosophers or 
not. The object of his life’s chief work is both by 
persuasion and by demonstration to bring lost souls 
back to the Christian belief. Philosophical spec- 
ulation in itself has very little interest for him, 
since unaided it cannot lead to faith. Therefore he 
cultivates it only in so far as it can serve his purpose. 
It is to him one of many means, not an end in itself. 

Pascal has been called a skeptic. But such an 
interpretation of the Pexsées is scarcely regarded as 
warranted to-day. If to make human reason con- 
scious of its own weakness and limitations, to make 
it realize that its knowledge is but relative, and that 
the absolute is beyond its reach, is to be skeptical, 
there are few philosophers but deserve the name. 
Pascal never questioned the validity of human reason 
in its own proper domain. He even trusted it so 
far as to believe it capable of realizing its own inad- 
equacy when confronted with the problem of human 
destiny and the necessity of a special revelation. 
Pascal wants us to believe, but he is also desirous 
of having reason acknowledge that it is necessary to 
believe. This attitude is not that of a skeptic. 


77 


78 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Others have termed him a mystic. It is true, 
his passionate and ecstatic faith sometimes found 
expression in brief mystical effusions. But nothing 
is less mystical than Pascal’s habits of thought. 
Mystical philosophers, as a rule, are obscure, im- 
petuous, full of metaphors and allegories. They are 
poor logicians; they speak the language of passion, 
and their influence is exercised chiefly through the 
infectious warmth of their sentiments. Pascal is 
clearness and precision itself. The care he bestows 
upon his style nowise impairs the correctness of his 
thought. The ‘‘spirit of geometry’’ and the ‘‘spirit 
of acuteness,’’ which he analyzed so well, are both 
his. Even when he merely wishes to persuade, his 
ideas are linked together in strictly logical sequence, 
and the conclusions are drawn from the premises as 
in a demonstration. One can easily imagine that 
Pascal would have admired greatly the zeal of the 
Christian mystics for their faith, but not their 
mysticism. When he writes: ‘‘God apparent to 
our hearts, not to our reason;’’ or, ‘‘The heart has 
its own reasons which are unknown to reason’’— 
these are not the maxims of a mystical philosophy 
which makes the understanding subordinate to sen- 
timent. They are, properly speaking, Christian 
maxims, unconnected with any philosophical doc- 
trine whatsoever. Those who are in a state of grace 
immediately perceive, without any argument, what 
others are unable to perceive in spite of all the 
efforts of their reason. The ‘‘heart,’’ therefore, 
means here the nature of man, in so far as it is re- 


PASCAL. 79 


deemed from the corruption of sin, or is saved by 
Jesus Christ. Nothing is so incompatible with Pas- 
cal’s general design as adherence to a system of 
philosophy, even a mystical philosophy. 

Yet it would be inconceivable for a history of 
French philosophy to pass by Pascal’s name in 
silence. Though he cannot be ranked in any cate- 
gory of philosophers, nevertheless, owing to his 
powerful mind and to the matchless splendor of 
his style, he exercised a deep influence on French 
fhoucht.yikle is by \farathe «ereatestof all) those 
moralists of whom France produced such a vast 
number, authors of ‘‘maxims,’’ /ensées, ‘“‘charac- 
ters,’ whose chief aim was the analysis of the 
human heart and of the working of human passions. 
He rises above them by the whole height of an intel- 
ligence not unequal to the most arduous problems 
in science and philosophy; and if he did not inves- 
tigate these problems thoroughly, if frequently he 
cast upon them only a cursory glance, it was be- 
cause his faith made it an imperative duty for him 
to employ his genius in other directions. 


In this respect the history of his mind is an in- 
structive one. ‘‘I devoted much time to the study 
of the abstract sciences,’’ he says in the Pensées, 
‘‘and the little information to be found in them 
made me sick of them.’’ But this was not the only 
reason for his choice. If he abandoned his geo- 
metrical and physical researches for religion, it was 
not merely because what we know of these sciences 


80 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


is nothing in comparison with that of which we 
shall be forever ignorant; it was also because he 
deemed such an occupation not the most suitable 
one for a Christian. Malebranche frequently ridi- 
cules men of science who spend their lives at a 
telescope watching the course of a star, or become 
lost in the depths of erudition in order to elucidate 
a point in ancient history, but who, during that 
time, forget to study themselves, and even to live. 
Pascal also thinks such an occupation a vain and 
futile one. He adds that it is dangerous, and in 
some cases even sinful. Curiosity or a craving for 
knowledge, as well as lust, or a craving for enjoy- 
ment, is a consequence of sin; and though the vices 
engendered by the former may be less ignoble than 
those resulting from the latter, the temptation is all 
the more to be dreaded, and they lead the soul no 
less surely into perdition. 

No science of outward objects can console me in 
times of affliction for my ignorance of morals; but 
the science of morals can always console me for my 
ignorance of objective sciences. By “‘a science of 
morals’’ Pascal most certainly did not mean the 
moral science of philosophers. The latter science 
was never able to discover more than partial and 
incomplete aspects of the truth; it mistook these 
for the entire truth, and therefore drew false con- 
clusions from them. Pascal meant to designate by 
the term such knowledge of himself as man can 
obtain by reflecting upon his own nature, his piace 
in the universe and the destiny he may expect; for 


PASCAL. SI 


such reflection, carefully followed out, leads him to 
the threshold of the true religion. This is the only 
science of real importance to man, the only one 
which bears upon what is indispensable for him to 
know. It is only because we know not how to 
study it that we seek after other things. Those 
who have faith are the happiest of men; for not 
only are they in no need of human science, but 
when they do apply their minds to it, they deal 
with it as it should be dealt with, and far from its 
being a danger to them, they turn it to the advan- 
tage of religion. Those who have no faith, and 
yet are not sunk in stupid indifference, should try 
to understand themselves, and if unable to do so, 
then to discover why this is impossible for them. 
This is the only human means to bring them nearer 
to salvation. 

We shall therefore distinguish two periods in Pas- 
cal’s life: the first, in which he busied himself with 
mathematical and physical sciences, and the sec- 
ond, in which, being thoroughly convinced of the 
vanity of these sciences, he confined himself to the 
science of morals. 

As a natural philosopher Pascal was one of the 
most pronounced in his advocacy of the rights of 
experience and reason as against the method of 
authority. The fragment of the Traité du Vide ex- 
presses, in a wonderfully eloquent style, ideas which 
Bacon, Descartes and many others had previously 
advocated. Pascal's method of demonstrating them 
is decisive; by his very analysis of the notions of 


82 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


science and of antiquity he determines in what case 
and in what measure respect is due to the opinions 
of the ancients. 

Here Pascal even throws light upon a point 
already touched by Bacon, but neglected by Des- 
cartes. In laying down the first rule of his method, 
‘‘To hold nothing as true unless one clearly knows 
it to be such,’’ Descartes based his reasons entirely 
upon the abstract idea of science and upon the 
model of mathematics. To him these were suffi- 
cient grounds for regarding everything that preceded 
him as null and void, and for ignoring tradition 
absolutely. He proposed to build up a philosoph- 
ical system as if none had ever existed before him. 
Pascal, on the contrary, analyzes this confused idea 
of tradition, and derives thence the idea of progress. 
He represents mankind in its entirety as a single 
man living forever and learning continually. Had 
not Descartes been so wholly taken up with his 
desire to abolish scholastic philosophy, he also 
might have noticed, were it but in geometry and as- 
tronomy, the onward march of scientific knowledge, 
which is the most luminous illustration of progress 
that can be obtained. Pascal's idea is a remarkable 
one, inasmuch as it implies the continuity of prog- 
ress. We shall find it reviving in the eighteenth 
century, under various forms, until the natural sci- 
ences, and particularly biology, substitute for this 
rather elementary notion of uninterrupted progress 
the more complex conceptions of evolution and 
adaptation. 


PASCAL. 83 


Pascal’s views of scientific method betray at 
almost every point the influence of Descartes. Like 
Descartes, he has but little esteem for formal logic; 
true logic is to be found in mathematics. A method 
of avoiding error is sought by every one. Logicians 
profess to know the way to it, but geometricians 
alone reach it, and real demonstrations do not exist 
outside their science and its attendant branches. 
Geometry therefore is the only true science, and this 
distinction it owes to the ‘‘order’’ which it follows. 
(Descartes had said similarly, ‘‘The method consists 
wholly in the order to be observed,’’ etc.) Lastly, 
even as mathematics furnished Descartes with the 
idea of his philosophical method, so geometry sug- 
gested to Pascal that of a “‘still loftier and more 
finished’’ one. But, unlike Descartes, who thought 
he had found the demonstration of the true philos- 
ophy, Pascal believes that a perfect method is be- 
yond the reach of man. Geometry has to take for 
granted the definitions from which it proceeds and 
the axioms on which it rests, whereas a perfect 
procedure would define and demonstrate everything. 
Geometricians, however, are quite justified in not 
demonstrating that two quantities which are equal 
to a third are equal to each other, and in not giv- 
ing a definition of space, time, and number, for 
such explanations as they might give of these no- 
tions would create obscurity rather than enlighten- 
ment. It is sufficient if their definitions and axioms 
be so perfectly clear and evident as absolutely to 
preclude denial. But still it is an imperfection in 


84 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


their science that these things have to be taken for 
granted. 

Thus geometry, although the least imperfect of 
human sciences, can demonstrate nothing save by 
admitting undemonstrable principles, and define 
nothing save by using undefinable terms. The 
question, whence these principles and notions are 
derived is a serious subject of discussion among phil- 
osophers. Some ascribe their origin to experience, 
others to the independent activity of the mind. 
According to Pascal, these principles spring from 
the “‘heart;’’ that is, we believe.in them instinc- 
tively, and such a belief is as firm as any which 
reasoning can engender inus. The “‘heart’’ tells us 
that there are three dimensions in space, and that 
the succession of numbers is infinite. Principles we 
feel, propositions we infer, and both with certainty, 
although by different means. And it would be as 
absurd for reason to ask the heart for proofs of its 
first principles before accepting them as for the 
heart to ask reason to feel all the propositions it 
demonstrates before conceding their correctness. 

This is therefore no drawback to geometry. It 
merely takes for granted that we know what is meant 
by the words motion, number, space. Without stop- 
ping for useless definitions, it penetrates into the 
very nature and discovers the wonderful properties 
of these three things, “‘which,’’ says Pascal, speaking 
as a true Cartesian, ‘‘comprise the whole universe.’’ 
But if we try to carry our reflection higher, and to 
apply it to these principles themselves, we are 


PASCAL. 85 


stopped at the very first step and obliged to confess 
our ignorance. ‘‘Our soul is placed in our body, 
where it finds number, time, dimension; it calls 
this nature or necessity, and cannot think other- 
wise. Seldom was Pascal more profound than in 
these few words. He outlines here the idea of 
the relativity of knowledge. He intimates that 
the necessity of natural laws may possibly be only 
the necessity of the laws of our own thought, and 
that these fundamental laws, both of thought and 
of nature, may also, in some way unknown to us, 
proceed from our human constitution. Therefore, 
‘‘what goes beyond geometry is beyond our reach.’’ 

Accordingly, not only are the sensible qualities 
of bodies relative to the sentient mind (as Descartes 
had already shown in contrasting sensation with 
the knowledge of the understanding, which sees 
things as they really are), but this very knowledge 
of the understanding cannot be looked upon as 
absolute; it also is relative to the intelligent sub- 
ject. For our most urgent reason for acknowledg- 
ing the truth of its principles is that we cannot 
think without them. Kant says, afterward, that, 
by the very nature of our understanding, things-in- 
themselves are beyond our reach, and that all our 
knowledge is confined to the world of phenomena. 
Pascal is certainly very far from anticipating the 
Critique of Pure Reason, and he doubtless would 
have seen no necessity for undertaking so enormous 
a work, but he nevertheless touched here upon 
one of its most important problems. 


mh) 


86 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


The critique of the faculties of the human un- 
derstanding, which was not in Pascal's plan, is partly 
represented in his Pensées by the consideration of the 
Infinite, the idea of which plays an important part 
in his philosophy. According to him, we know that 
the Infinite exists, but we are ignorant of its nature. 
We know the existence of infinite number and of 
infinite space, but we are quite unable to form con- 
ceptions of them. We know, at least, that the finite 
is incommensurable with the infinite. Therefore, 
man, being finite, has no standard for the idea of 
the infinite; is lost and swallowed up in it. In this 
infinite sphere, the center of which is everywhere 
and the circumference nowhere—where do we 
stand? The question is of course unanswerable. 
‘‘For what is man in nature? Nothing as com- 
pared with the infinite, everything as compared 
with nothingness—a mean between nothing and 
everything. Being thus utterly powerless to com- 
prehend the extremes, for him the end and the 
principle of things are forever wrapped in impene- 
trable mystery. He is incapable, in fine, of con- 
ceiving either the nothingness from which he is 
derived, or the infinite in which he is ingulfed.’’ 

From this it follows that Nature is as incompre- 
hensible as God Himself who created it. It is 
therefore useless to reduce the science of nature to 
the basis of geometry, as Descartes does (Pascal does 
not question here the legitimacy of the procedure); 
it is useless to establish a geometrical ‘‘order,’’ as 
the most perfect that man can attain to. It must 


PASCAL. 87 


still be admitted that between infinite space and the 
space which we conceive there is a great gulf fixed, 
and that this clearest of all our sciences is based on 
principles which we do not understand. And if, 
instead of reflecting upon the object of science, we 
reflect upon the mind which makes science, the 
notion of the infinite brings us to the same confes- 
sion; for we then perceive that our understanding, 
in the order of intelligence, holds the same place as 
our body in the order of nature. 

This parallelism (a genuinely Cartesian one) in- 
volves conclusions which Pascal draws at once. 
Even as our body is but an imperceptible speck in 
comparison with infinite space, so our understand- 
ing, in spite of all its exertions, is infinitely remote 
from the perfect comprehension of things. Whether 
contemplating them from above or from below, it is 
still equally far from the end. We are sequestered 
in an unknown region of the universe, from which 
it were sheer madness to think of escaping. We 
are likewise confined to a certain degree of intelli- 
gence, above which our human faculties prevent 
our rising. In the range of thought, as well as of 
Space, we are a mean between nothing and every- 
thing, infinitely remote both from lifeless, unthink- 
ing matter and from that Absolute Thought which 
comprehends Being while creating it. Our knowl- 
edge is subject to certain conditions. Man’s pre- 
tension to absolute knowledge can spring only from 
an absurd—one might almost say, infinite—pre- 
sumptuousness. 


88 MODERN PHILCSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


If, therefore, in speaking of science, Pascal is 
now sympathetic and admiring, now scornful and 
derisive, the diversity of his language is easily ex- 
plained, and we need not suppose that Pascal, after 
admitting the validity of human reason in the earlier 
part of his life, despaired of it in the latter and 
abandoned himself to skepticism. It is sufficient to 
observe that in some passages Pascal views science 
from the standpoint of the finite and in others from 
that of the infinite. In the first passages, when 
considering science from a purely human point 
of view, he finds it to be logically unassailable (at 
least as regards geometry) and he extends this 
praise to “‘what imitates it,’’ probably alluding to 
a philosophy of the nature of Descartes’s, which vies 
with mathematics in precision. But when consider- 
ing science and philosophy from the point of view 
of the infinite, their vanity, weakness and _ useless- 
ness appear obvious to him directly, for there is 
no proportion between the human mind, which is 
finite, and the infinite object with which science is 
concerned. Thus Pascal may say, without reference 
to moral or religious considerations: ‘‘ Philosophy 
(that is the science of nature) is not worth an hour’s 
pains. “ieee elo write against thosemvho pur 
sue the sciences * * * to scoff at philosophy 
—that is to be the true philosopher.’’ 

For the same reasons, and without being self-con- 
tradictory, Pascal shows himself alternately favorable 
and hostile to Cartesianism; yet this is no reason 
for inferring that he has changed his opinion. If 


PASCAL. 89 


there must be a science of physics, he evidently 
prefers that of Descartes to that of Aristotle. 
What he thinks ridiculous is the expectation of 
attaining to a complete and definitive explanation of 
nature. Therefore, he does not hesitate to praise 
the Cartesian doctrine when speaking of it as a geo- 
metrician or natural philosopher; he even admires 
the cogzto and the conclusions inferred from it by 
Descartes. But when he compares this philosophy 
with the infinity of nature, which is the object of 
its study, he finds it no less bold and presumptuous 
than the others. The more closely he considers the 
infinite, the less interested he becomes in geometry 
and natural sciences; not that they seem to him less 
true than they did before, but that he sees the 
vanity of them more clearly. Another science 
attracts him—the science of man, in which all his 
dearest concerns are at stake. 


As we know, the philosophers of old achieved 
no true science of man, or of morals. Pascal, 
however, was far from rejecting as worthless all that 
they had said on the subject. Two sects appeared 
to him particularly worthy of esteem, for each of 
them had partly descried the truth: the Stoics, rep- 
resented by Epictetus, and the Epicureans, repre- 
sented by Montaigne. 

Epictetus knew the duties of man admirably 
well. He repeatedly stated that man’s only study 
and desire should be to recognize and obey the will 
of God. He wished man to be persuaded that God 


go MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


governs all things with justice, to submit to Him 
willingly, and always to have before his eyes the 
thought of death and of the most unbearable misfor- 
tunes, thus triumphing over mean thoughts and 
immoderate desires. But after speaking of the 
duties of man in language such as would befit a 
Christian, Epictetus fails to acknowledge man’s 
powerlessness. He is carried away by pride. He 
falls into serious error by presuming too much on 
man’s strength. He does not perceive that the 
nature of man, alone and unaided, is incapable of 
fulfilling its duty toward God. He boasts of man’s 
liberty, whereas he is really a slave to sin; he extols 
man’s power, likening it to that of the gods, whereas 
he has been corrupt and miserable ever since the 
original fall. And so this admirable system of ethics 
leads to doctrines of ‘‘diabolical pride.’’ 

Montaigne falls into the opposite error. This 
philosopher has an incomparable faculty of making 
men realize their own weakness. He overthrows 
by imperceptible degrees all that is looked upon by 
men as most certain, not in order to establish the 
contrary, for certitude is his especial aversion, but 
merely to show that, since appearances favor equally 
both conclusions, we cannot possibly know whereon 
to ground our belief. He shcws how reason lends 
itself to all purposes and how hollow its principles, 
even those which are regarded as firmest and most 
natural, shows the errors into which man is inevi- 
tably allured by his imagination, the tyranny exer- 
cised over him by custom and example, and his 


PASCAL. gI 


ridiculous self-assumption. Thus reason, being 
‘irretrievably foiled by its own weapons,”’ is re- 
duced to silence, and so abased that it can no longer 
decide whether it is superior or equal to the instinct 
of animals. 

But Montaigne, too, thinks like a heathen. He 
shows admirably man’s natural helplessness, which 
Epictetus ignored; but with a laxity doubly shame- 
ful in a Christian, he neglects the duties of man, 
which Epictetus knew so well. He follows custom 
and instinct, and thus, even as the Stoic is led astray 
by his pride, the Epicurean is led astray by his sloth. 

Would, then, the solution consist in accepting 
both Epictetus’s and Montaigne’s conclusions, 
merely placing them in juxtaposition? Shall we 
obtain the true science of morals by regarding the 
duties of man as Epictetus did, and his helplessness 
as Montaigne did? No; such a solution is impos- 
sible. Montaigne does not complete Epictetus; 
he directly contradicts him. Placing them together 
would result in nothing except strife and mutual 
destruction; for as the one has established certitude 
and the other doubt, and the one has depicted the 
grandeur of man and the other his weakness, both 
their errors and their truths are mutually nullified. 
To reach an acceptable solution, we must discover 
a higher point‘of view, from which the contradictory 
elements will be reconcilable. 

In spite of the diversity of the problems in ques- 
tion the method here followed .by Pascal offers a 
striking analogy to that employed afterward by 


g2 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Kant in overcoming the antinomies of pure reason. 
In the third antinomy especially, Kant shows that 
reason cannot decide between two conflicting propo- 
sitions. Reason cannot give up the idea that there 
are free causes in the universe, as for instance, 
man’s will; but it also does not think it possible to 
give up the idea of the necessary concatenation of 
causes and effects. The interest of morals forbids 
that liberty should be sacrificed; the interest of sci- 
ence demands determinism. How does Kant over- 
come the antinomy? By showing that the two 
statements are not absolutely contradictory, but 
are only so ina certain sense, and that, from differ- 
ent points of view, they are both true. Jz time it 
is true that every phenomenon must needs be the 
result of antecedent phenomena. But out of time 
the law of causality is no longer necessary, and 
nothing justifies us in asserting of ‘‘things-in-them- 
selves’’ what we know to be true as regards phe- 
nomena. So that determinism remains true in the 
world of experience, while liberty also is possible in 
that of absolute reality. The antinomy is overcome. 

In the same way the moral science of philoso- 
phers, according to Pascal, results in a seemingly 
insoluble antinomy. Mancannot be incurably help- 
less, as Montaigne says, and at the same time have 
duties imposed upon him such as are pointed out 
by Epictetus; yet both of them were right. What, 
then, shall raise us to the higher point of view from 
which this contradiction disappears? Reason by 
itself is unable to do so. Its most strenuous exer- 


PASCAL. 93 


tions may carry it as far as Epictetus or Montaigne, 
but not beyond them. This the Gospel alone can 
do. It reconciles these contradictions by a purely 
divine art; and by uniting all that is true, and by 
rejecting all that is false, makes of the result a truly 
celestial body of wisdom, wherein the opposites 
which to human doctrine were irreconcilable are 
found to agree. And the reason of this success is 
that the philosophers of the world have always put 
contrary things together in one and the same category, 
the one attributing man’s grandeur to nature, and 
the other his weakness to the same source—a 
formal contradiction; whereas faith has always 
taught us to place them zz different categories, attrib- 
uting all infirmities to nature, and all perfections 
to the grace of God. Man in the helpless state 
conceived by Montaigne is man fallen and cor- 
rupted by sin. Man able to fulfill the duties con- 
ceived by Epictetus is another man, regenerated 
and redeemed by Christ, supported by God’s grace. 
Here also the antinomy is overcome. 

There remains, however, an essential difference 
between the case of Kant and that of Pascal. 
Never for a moment does Kant abandon the ground 
of philosophy, and the elements of his solution are 
supplied to him by his own Crztigue of Pure Rea- 
son. But according to Pascal the antinomy of the 
science of morals would have remained forever in- 
soluble, had not God condescended to enlighten us. 
Pascal abandons the domain of reason and appeals 
to faith. In order to justify such a serious step he 


94 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


had to show its absolute necessity; in other words, 
he had to demonstrate that the antinomy could not 
possibly be solved in any other manner. The science 
of man must appear as evident and easy to grasp 
from Pascal’s Christian point of view as it is absurd 
and unintelligible from any other point of view. 

In this sense, Pascal’s Entretzen avec M. de Sact 
sur Epictéte et Montaigne may be looked upon as 
a sketch, afterward to become a completed picture 
in the Pensées. We see him, in this latter work, 
expatiating on the grandeur and misery of man with 
such intensity that the strokes never seem to him 
strong enough or the contrast sufficiently conveyed 
to the reader. ‘‘What a chimera man is, what a 
strange monster, what a chaos, what a bundle of 
contradictions, what a prodigy! Judge of all things, 
and a miserable worm; a depository of truth, anda 
sink of uncertainty and error; at once the glory and 
themscum of theyuniverse!l, gia wobec, extens 
himself, I humble him; if he abases himself, I exalt 
him, and always I contradict him, until he compre- 
hends that he is an incomprehensible monster.’’ 
Dhen, “butwonly \then,| couldyePascal tpraposeor 
rather impose, the only solution which, according 
to him, was to throw light into this darkness: 
‘‘Hearken unto God.’’ 

Thus does theology become, in Pascal’s eyes, 
the center of all truths. His recourse to a super- 
natural light in order to acquaint men with their 
nature and destiny has in itself nothing extraor- 
dinary. It was aconstant habit with the Fathers 


PASCAL. 95 


of the Church, with Augustine, for instance, a 
favorite author among Pascal's friends, the Jansen- 
ists. The transition from philosophy to theology 
is also found in Malebranche, though in another 
sense, and something of the same kind has often 
occurred in the religious philosophy of Germany. 
But Augustine speaks as a bishop and in the name 
of faith; Malebranche rises by imperceptible degrees 
from the truths of reason to those of religion; while 
in Germany metaphysics and Protestant theology, 
as a rule, lend each other mutual support and ex- 
change whatever enlightenment they may have. 
Pascal's way of proceeding is quite different, unlike 
any other, and singularly bold. Man’s nature, he 
says in substance, being an insoluble enigma, Reve- 
lation alone gives us the key to it, and that through 
the dogma of the Fall and the Redemption. But 
in its turn this key is another enigma, no less in- 
comprehensible than the first. For nothing can be 
more offensive to reason than that the sin of the first 
man should involve beings who, having been quite 
remote from that source, seem incapable of having 
shared in it. ‘*‘What could be more contrary to our 
puny conceptions of justice than to damn for eternity 
a child without will of its own, for a sin committed 
six thousand years before its birth?’’ Nothing 
could shock us more than such a doctrine; and yet, 
but for that mystery, the most incomprehensible of 
all, we should be incomprehensible to ourselves. 
‘Man is more inconceivable without that mystery 
than that mystery is inconceivable to man.’’ 


96 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


It is easy to understand why the defenders of 
the Christian belief who came after Pascal did not 
dare to follow his process of demonstration. They 
preferred more prudent courses. Pascal leaves 
us to choose between a mystery offensive to our 
reason and distasteful to our conscience, and the 
impossibility without the help of that mystery of 
understanding the nature of man. This is putting 
timorous souls into a state of terrible perplexity; 
and it is to be feared that most of them would 
come to a decision opposite to that assumed by 
Pascal as the most rational. 


From Pascal’s strenuous exertions to prove that 
we must admit a supernatural revelation, and that 
but for Jesus Christ man would be both helpless and 
incomprehensible, we can imagine what he thought 
of ‘natural/@religion. °» «Thesé stwoy swords) he 
asserted, clash painfully when coupled; one might 
as well deny religion outright as to speak of natural 
religion. Atheism and deism are two things almost 
equally detested by the Christian religion. If you 
maintain that you can know and serve God by the 
sole power of your reason, without any mediator, 
redemption then becomes superfluous. You then 
no longer believe that Christ came down upon earth 
to redeem us from the sin of Adam; you relapse 
into the blindness of heathenism; you are no longer 
a Christian. 

Pascal therefore looks at the connection between 
reason and faith quite otherwise than Leibniz. He 


PASCAL. Q7 


cannot admit of any conformity between reason and 
faith whereby each, following a different path, 
arrives at the same common center—the possession 
of truth and the worship of God. Were it so, one 
of them might possibly be sufficient if the other 
were lacking: faith without reason with the vulgar, 
reason without faith in the philosopher. Such was 
perhaps the notion of Leibniz; it was surely that 
of many in the eighteenth century. Pascal looks 
upon such a thought as untenable and impious. To 
such a doctrine, which ignores the weakness of rea- 
son, one might justly oppose the arguments of the 
skeptics. Pyrrhonism will serve to correct this 
excessive presumptuousness, and to show that ‘‘rea- 
son confounds dogmatic philosophers.’’ In fact, 
faith and reason do not converge to a common cen- 
ter. Reason reaches only to a certain point, which 
it cannot pass. Faith alone carries us beyond it. 
‘“We must be able to doubt when necessary, to be 
positive when necessary, and to submit when neces- 
sary ;’ and in still more explicit terms: ‘‘One should 
have the three following qualities: One should be a 
Pyrrhonian, a geometrician, and a submissive Chris- 
tian.’’ Now, there is nothing to prevent a deist 
from being a geometrician, but he is surely not a 
Pyrrhonian, and it is in vain for him to assert his 
respect for revealed religion; he is no longer a sub- 
missive Christian, for he can dispense with Christ. 
Thence it follows that the proofs of the existence 
of God given by philosophers are in themselves far 
from sufficient. ‘‘I marvel,’’ says Pascal, ‘‘at the 


98 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


boldness with which these persons dare to speak of 
God when they address the impious.’’ Prove 
divinity by the works of nature! Why, such a 
proof, even though the most accessible of all and 
the only one that can produce anything like a vivid 
impression upon souls, has no validity except for 
those who have already looked upon nature with 
the eyes of faith. To others it gives the impression 
that the proofs of religion are frail in the extreme, 
and nothing is more calculated to make them scorn 
it. As to the metaphysical arguments, properly 
so called, such as those given by Descartes, they 
are so complicated as to have little or no immediate 
efficacy; and granting they should prove effective 
with some people, their efficacy would last only so 
long as the demonstration was before them; an 
hour later the same people would be filled with mis- 
givings lest they had been mistaken. In a word, 
without Jesus Christ these proofs are useless and 
barren. 

The light of nature therefore reveals to us neither 
the existence of God, nor, still less, His nature. 
Should Pascal concede otherwise, he would under- 
mine his own doctrine.’ Those who maintain that 
reason can rise unaided to a knowledge of the true 
God lay the way open to unbelief, whether inten- 
tionally or not, and are no less harmful to religion 
than her open enemies. This is one of the reasons 
why Pascal distrusted the philosophy of Descartes. 
He criticised it even for presuming to give a complete 
explanation of everything in the universe by the 


PASCAL. 99 


working of natural laws alone. ‘‘God has spun the 
world into motion, after which we have nothing 
more to do with Him.’’ No less strongly does 


Pascal object to the claim that one can give demon- 
strations of the existence of God and the spirituality 
of the soul as conclusive as those of geometry. But 
he refuses to pass criticism on these demonstrations. 
What would be the use of wasting his time thus? 
it awouldim bes sufficientaguiy necessary, © tovcrefer 
Descartes to Montaigne and the Pyrrhonian phil- 
osophers. 

In the eyes of a man who has realized how fool- 
ish is the pride of our reason, and who acknowl- 
edges that the condition of man would be incom- 
prehensible but for the dogma of the fall, reality 
presents itself in the shape of three distinct 
‘ orders,’ overlying but not touching one another. 
In the lower ‘‘order,’’ or sphere, lies the world of 
bodies; in the middle, the world of spirits; at the 
summit, the world of Christian love. From all 
bodies taken together one cannot produce even the 
smallest thought; it is impossible, for thought be- 
longs to another sphere. From all bodies and spirits 
together one cannot extract the least manifesta- 
tion of true love; it is impossible, for love belongs 
to another order, a supernatural order. Is not this 
Wworder ‘of ‘love’ identicalgwith ithe) cityof (God, 
which figures in Leibniz under the name of ‘‘The 
Realm of Grace,’’ and in Kant under that of ‘‘The 
Realm of Ends?’’ No doubt it is, but with one 
reservation, viz., that Leibniz and Kant arrived at 


6 


I0O MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


the result by efforts of pure reason, whereas Pascal 
reached it by the self-renunciation of reason. ‘‘The 
crowning act of reason is to acknowledge that a 
multitude of things are beyond its reach. It is 
weak, unless it reaches this conclusion. And if 
natural things are beyond its reach, what of super- 
natural things?’ Therefore, no true love can exist 
without God’s grace. Happy are those chosen by 
God to receive it! All that man can do is to try 
to make himself worthy of it; and even then his 
endeavors will be fruitless unless pleasing to God. 
Love sHimjRobey’ Him, ‘prayiton Himyinvorder 0 
obtain faith. God alone can put His divine truths 
into the soul, and in the way that pleases Him. 


Pascal’s method was that of persuasive demon- 
stration, which he adopted after mature meditation, 
and from which he never swerved. The criticism 
of the dogmatic and Pyrrhonian doctrines, the pic- 
ture of man’s incomprehensible condition, of his 
grandeur and his misery, the examination of social 
ethics, the analysis of the proofs of Christianity, all 
tended to one object—namely, to showing that belief 
is rational, and that, if it knows its own nature, it 
finally submits to revelation. But the Pensées have 
been handed down to us in a fragmentary and unfin- 
ished form; and though one can restore the leading 
ideas and even the main lines of the plan followed 
and desired by the author, one can likewise regard 
the book as a simple collection of reflections and 
maxims without reference to their hidden links and 


PASGAL: IOL 


connections, and so emphasise only certain parts of 
them to the relative neglect of the others. This has 
been done, for instance, by those who, being chiefly 
impressed by what Pascal says of the weakness of 
human reason, have mistaken him for a skeptic. 
Thus, also, the Pensées have often been read for 
their own sake, without much regard for the end 
which Pascal wished them to serve. And thus it 
has happened also that their influence, which has 
been great, has not fulfilled the intentions of their 
author, and by this not unparalleled irony of fate 
the great apologist of the Christian religion has sup- 
plied its enemies with a whole arsenal of weapons. 

His very theory of the reason, which he considers 
as impotent beyond certain limits, was in itself dan- 
gerous to the cause he wished to uphold. It was 
quite a different thing from Montaigne’s skepticism. 
The latter was a means employed by Montaigne to 
combat fanaticism and the evils engendered by it; 
but it was only a means, and did not prevent Mon- 
taigne from preserving a certain number of moral 
convictions to which he was wedded; the argu- 
ments on which that skepticism was grounded had 
nothing original about them. Pascal’s more pro- 
found genius raised the question of the legitimate 
use of human reason itself, and sought to fix its 
limits. On the one hand, he acknowledges the 
value of positive science (provided it admits the 
derived nature of its principles), and in this he is 
unlike the traditional and improbable skeptic in- 
vented by philosophers. But, on the other hand, 


102 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


he affirms that ‘‘what goes beyond geometry is be- 
yond our reach,’’ and also that we know that science 
derives its principles from a superior domain, access 
to which is denied us. We are aware of the exist- 
ence of the infinite, and ignorant of its nature, and 
we must be forever ignorant of it, since there is no 
common scale between us and the infinite. Pascal 
here opened the door to agnosticism, of which our 
century has beheld numerous and various forms. 
Now agnosticism may be, and often is, found associ- 
ated with religious tendencies; but it may also be 
antagonistic to religion. At any rate, it is nowise 
connected especially with the Christian belief or the 
Roman Catholic dogma. History shows that the 
abandonment of rational metaphysics has not been 
beneficial to revealed religion. 

Thus, as regards the relations between reason 
and faith, which interested Pascai so deeply, the 
result of his exertions ran diametrically counter to 
his purpose. When he says that the Christian 
dogma is a vain folly in the eyes of the world; that 
the original sin condemning thousands of guiltless 
beings to eternal damnation is revolting to our sense 
of justice, the philosophers of the eighteenth cen- 
tury are loud in approval. Many also approve 
when Pascal calls the philosophical proofs of the 
existence of God inadequate to convince hardened 
atheists. They readily grant that reason is one 
thing, that faith is another thing, and that there is 
no natural connection between the two. But when 
he thence infers that one must be a Christian, he is 


PASCAL. 103 


no longer followed. His premises are retained and 
his conclusions dropped, to the great advantage of 
unbelief and of natural religion, which he detested 
almost equally. 

It was next in the order of Pascal’s method of 
demonstration to prove, as Montaigne had done, 
that man’s reason is powerless to regulate his con- 
duct, and that custom and prejudice alone regulate 
morals. He went about this proof with such 
earnestness and energy that even his friends were 
dismayed, and did not dare to publish this part of 
the FPensées without extenuating, in almost every 
sentence, the boldness of his thought and the harsh- 
ness of his words. Yet there remained in it reflec- 
tions on justice, on law, on property, on social dis- 
tinctions and privileges, and even on sovereignty, 
the daring of which was not surpassed in the eigh- 
teenth century. Pascal concluded that all these 
social institutions are mere conventions, indefensible 
by reason. Not being able to make the just strong, 
men have made the strong just. These conventions, 
though not respectable in themselves, become so in 
the life of a Christian; so that the frame of the 
social order indirectly serves to prove the truth of 
Christianity, since on this truth the validity of the 
social order depends. But the philosophers of the 
eighteenth century neither were nor wished to be 
Christians; they merely gathered from Pascal’s argu- 
ments that social institutions were a heap of rubbish, 
nonsense and injustice. 

Lastly, admitting no other direct proofs of super- 


104 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


natural religion than supernatural facts, Pascal 
grounds his faith on prophecies and _ miracles. 
‘Were it not for miracles,’’ he says, ‘‘I should not 
be .a. Christian, A dubiousisaying, ibecausessit 
was liable to be interpreted quite otherwise than 
Pascal intended. Pascal does not mean that if 
miracles appear incredible to a man he is thereby 
exempted from being a Christian. He means, on 
the contrary, that whoever has faith finds in mir- 
acles the means to explain his faith, to himself at 
least. He means to say that prophecies and miracles 
prove the truth of Christianity, and if the demon- 
stration has no effect on certain minds, it is because 
God has willed them to remain blind. It is not be- 
cause the demonstration is insufficient; it is because 
they are not in a fit state to receive it. 

Still Pascal was here again opening a dangerous 
path. Hitherto the discussion of the outward 
proofs of Christianity had seldom extended beyond 
the world of theologians. Pascal was among the first 
to transfer it to the public realm of philosophers 
and men of letters. He was as poorly equipped 
for such a discussion as can be imagined, though it 
is true that very few men in his time were better pre- 
pared. The supposed divine nature of the sacred 
texts had prevented even the thought of a critical 
examination wofsithem... Buti the), adversarieseior 
Christianity, although rather inexperienced in this 
style of criticism, soon felt that they might take 
advantage of the example set by Pascal. The part 
played in their controversy by the discussion of 


PASCAL. 105 


prophecies and miracles is sufficiently well known. 
Voltaire was inexhaustible on the subject of sacred 
history. And we may question whether the scien- 
tific, disinterested and impartial exegesis which came 
later did not deal an even heavier blow than these 
gibes and taunts to the beliefs which Pascal would 
fain have strengthened! 


Sometimes unwittingly, Pascal had thrown into 
all his writings, and especially into his Pensées, seeds 
which were to grow and bear fruit in the future. 
He undesignedly marked out for himself a place in 
the history of French philosophy. This cannot be 
asserted of certain other Christian thinkers who by 
their position in the church were more closely con- 
fined to tradition. Neither Bossuet nor Fénelon 
ever felt tempted to depart from it. Fénelon, in- 
deed, entered upon a famous quarrel in defense of 
certain mystics, but the debate was only remotely 
connected with philosophy, and remained exclu- 
sively a theological one. If Fénelon, by his polit- 
ical schemes and by his partiality for social reforms, 
inaugurates the eighteenth century, it is after all 
from a statesman’s point of view. When he tries 
to be a philosopher he is a follower of Descartes 
and the latter’s enthusiastic disciple, and if he ceases 
to follow him, he occasionally goes astray. Thus, 
when he undertook to refute Spinoza, he opposed 
his doctrine by one far more akin to real Spinozism 
than the imaginary Spinozism which he was com- 
batting. 


106 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


As to Bossuet, he is admirably serene in his pos- 
session of truth. He therefore does not seek after 
what he has already received from a divine source. 
His philosophical works proper are important only 
as they show us one of the forms which have been 
assumed by the reconciliation of Cartesianism with 
the doctrine taught by the Church. His Duzscours 
sur l’ Histoire Universelle shows both the extent of 
his mind and the limitations within which he moved; 
as, for example, when he saw in the history of the 
Jewish nation the clue to the destiny of mankind. 
But at the same time another wind was beginning 
to blow. One might already feel, with Fontenelle 
and Bayle, the advent of a new era, when all that 
had hitherto been considered as sacred would be 
submitted to criticism, and when an audacious phi- 
losophy would test the titles of the moral, social and 
religious inheritance handed down by the past. 


CHARPERE LV: 


BAYLE AND FONTENELLE. 


THE philosophy of the eighteenth century in 
France, taken as a whole, presents so striking a 
contrast with that of the seventeenth century that 
the passage from the one to the other would be 
hardly intelligible did we not meet, as early as the 
end of the seventeenth century, with thinkers who, 
though of secondary rank, were yet bold and orig- 
inal, and who distinctly heralded the approaching 
change. In the seventeenth century speculative 
reason, having finally freed itself from scholasticism 
and the authority of the ancients, declared its abso- 
lute independence and made the freest use of it. It 
attempted a rational interpretation of the universe 
by intimately uniting metaphysics and physics and 
endeavored to realize the ideal of an intuitive and 
deductive science which should be to the totality of 
natural phenomena what mathematics is to num- 
bers and figures. In religion it was independent in 
fact but respectful in form. With Descartes and 
Gassendi, it refrained from touching upon sacred 
subjects; with Malebranche and Leibniz it flattered 
itself upon having established the conformity of 
reason with faith. Political and social problems, at 
least in France, it carefully abstained from entering 


107 


108 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


upon — doubtless from caution, but also because 
it felt that it lacked the method for doing so prac- 
tically. 

The eighteenth century presents a very different 
aspect. It is here difficult to discover what the 
prevailing philosophy really is, for the precise rea- 
son that philosophy is everywhere—in tragedies, 
novels, history, political economy. Every one is 
more or less of a philosopher. Yet no one makes 
the least original effort to conceive the unity of the 
whole world of phenomena. Metaphysical prob- 
lems are neglected, or at most are dealt with 
separately, without a thought of their mutual de- 
pendence and without any controlling idea to give 
them unity and to render the results harmonious. 
They are no longer attractive in themselves; the 
interest people seemingly take in them conceals an 
ulterior object. At the same time, the attitude of 
philosophers toward religion: has totally changed. 
The majority, instead of seeking a peaceful com- 
promise with revealed religion, assail it openly, 
many of them going so far as to attack natural reli- 
gion, while they nearly all proclaim morals to be 
independent of religious dogma. Political, social 
and pedagogical problems become the chief objects 
of study with philosophers. As the Church had 
given undisputed solutions of these questions from 
time immemorial, the matter was, so to speak, a 
new one. People took to it eagerly. They were 
anxious to occupy this wide domain, which was but 
just opened, and rushed forward to take complete 


BAYLE AND FONTENELLE. 109 


and immediate possession of it. At the same time 
the influence of the natural sciences, which were 
progressing more slowly but more surely, increased 
as new discoveries were made and gradually pre- 
pared the way for a new form of philosophical 
speculation. 

The principles of Descartes were, as we have 
seen, in great measure responsible for the formation 
of a philosophy so different from his own. Des- 
cartes himself sedulously avoided the discussion of 
political and social questions; but that his succes- 
sors should have so applied the philosophy of 
‘Clear ideas, ° was inevitable?’”In the’ same way 
the precaution he had taken to ‘“‘set apart’’ the 
truths of faith was not equivalent to a treaty of 
peace with theology, definitive and accepted on 
both sides. It was merely a truce, destined soon 
to be broken. The conflict was so inevitable that, 
even had theologians been perfectly reconciled to 
Cartesianism, the strife would nevertheless have 
broken out soon thereafter, by the natural develop- 
ment of philosophical thought alone. In fact, this 
is about what happened. If Cartesianism was 
looked upon suspiciously by Pascal, it did not 
alarm his friends at Port Royal: Arnauld and Nicole, 
in their Logic, showed themselves stanch Carte- 
sians. Nor did the most illustrious of the leaders 
of the French Roman Catholic Church, Bossuet and 
Fénelon, conceal their sympathy for the philosophy 
of Descartes, being, as it seems, more desirous of find- 
ing Cartesianism consistent with the teaching of the 


TIO . MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


orthodox doctrine than of combating it in the name 
of the latter. It was from the ranks of the philoso- 
phers themselves that serious hostilities began. 
Pure Cartesians these opponents were not; but they 
followed, more boldly than Descartes himself, the 
way he had opened, and if they differed from him, 
it was chiefly in applying his method and principles 
at the very points where he had abstained from so 
doing. 

On the other hand, there had been running 
throughout the seventeenth century a more or less 
hidden but uninterrupted undercurrent of opposition 
to the spiritualistic philosophy which was then pre- 
dominant, and above all to Christian philosophy. 
Being Epicureans in spirit, taste, and often in 
morals, and unbelievers in matters of religion, the 
‘libertines’ 
which were in accordance with their tendencies. 
They welcomed the empiricism of Gassendi; they 
would readily have espoused materialism, had the 
latter openly declared itself, and the most intelli- 
gent among them were not long in foreseeing the 
advantage which the cause of unbelief would draw 
from the method and physics of Descartes. All 
this, however, was not worked out, made clear and 
openly presented to the public. To find the real 
precursors of the philosophy of the eighteenth 
century, we must go to the last quarter of the sev- 
enteenth. There appeared at that time two minds 
quite different from each other in all things save 
one: that they both sowed many seeds which were 


’ 


were naturally drawn to doctrines 


BAYLE AND FONTENELLE. 1) 


soon to bear fruit. These men were Bayle and 
Fontenelle. 


If by ‘‘philosopher’’ we understand a man whose 
ideas concerning the great metaphysical problems 
form a definite system, Bayle must be refused that 
name, for he pleads the natural weakness of the 
human mind, and takes refuge in a modest kind of 
scepticism. He should rather be called a scholar, 
a commentator on the ancients, a historian of the- 
ological controversies, and, above all, a critic of cur- 
rent events. Nothing interests and diverts him 
more than the Nouvelles de la République des Let- 
tres. Hewas born a Protestant, was converted to 
Roman Catholicism, but almost immediately after 
returned to Protestantism, on which account he 
could not live in France, and finally fixed his resi- 
dence in Rotterdam, that city from which were to 
come in the eighteenth century so many bold books 
and pamphlets. He was not a daring man, at least 
in no respect did he appear so. His aspect was 
rather that of a person of the sixteenth century 
than of one of the eighteenth. He published large 
folios full of learned discussions, and loved to point 
out and correct the mistakes of other scholars whose 
works nobody read. He liked not only history, 
but the crumbs of history, half buried in the dust 
of dictionaries. Such a universal and voracious 
curiosity cannot but seem harmless; and if perad- 
venture a bold expression here and there causes the 
reader to prick up his ears he is soon reassured. It 


112 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


required a keen insight to discover amid such inex- 
haustible and minute erudition constantly preoccu- 
pied with almost forgotten things, an engine of 
war destructive of nearly all that the seventeenth 
century held certain and sacred. Nevertheless that 
engine was there, or at least it came from that 
source. And Voltaire had good reason for eulogiz- 
ing the immortal Bayle as ‘‘the pride of the human 
Sspeciesis 

One neither can nor ought to give a systematic 
account of ideas which their own author explicitly 
refused to unite into asystem. But Bayle’s ideas, 
though not closely linked together, are yet coherent. 
They center about certain leading points to which 
Bayle always reverts even when we least expect him 
to do so; and these points themselves have as a 
common center the relation between revelation and 
reason, with all the consequences which the solution 
of that question involves. 

Bayle boldly asserts at times that it is impossible 
to avoid the clear conclusions of reason. For there 
is, he declares, a distinct and vivid light which 
shines upon all men the moment they open the 
eyes of their attention; it is God Himself, the 
essential and substantial Truth, who then enlightens 
them directly. It is in vain for one to try to deny 
this light. There are axioms which we cannot ques- 
tion, however hard we may try. We cannot believe 
that the whole is not greater than the part. Even 
though the opposite statement should be cited in 
Scripture a hundred times, man, being what he 


BAYLE AND FONTENELLE. Tiss 


is, would not believe it. Therefore let nobody 
say that theology is a queen to which philosophy is 
a serving-maid merely; for the theologians them- 
selves by their very behavior confess that philos- 
ophy is the queen and theology the servant. 
Hence the exertions and contortions which they 
inflict upon their minds to avoid being accused of a 
conflict with genuine philosophy. They would 
certainly not exert themselves so much if they did 
not tacitly admit that the authority of any dogma 
not confirmed, examined and recorded in the 
supreme parliament of reason and natural light is 
‘‘wavering and fragile as glass.”’ 

Had Bayle always spoken thus he would have 
not only presaged but forestalled the eighteenth 
century. But then he would have shocked the 
great majority of his contemporaries. Condemned 
as irreligious and impious, he would have been far 
less read, and his influence would have been infi- 
nitely more restricted. He usually speaks a much 
more cautious language. Not only is he a believer, 
but he repudiates utterly the accusation of heresy. 
He objects to being classed with the Socinians, who 
refuse to believe in the Trinity and the Incarnation 
as contrary to natural light. 

Hes goes. even further, Incase of .asconflict 
between revelation and reason, the latter must 
yield. For could reason lead us to a knowledge of 
truth, evidence would be our guide. Now there 
are things entirely evident which a Christian rejects 
as false. Thus, says Bayle, you reject the axiom 


IIl4 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


of identity in accepting the Trinity, the Eucharist 
and Transubstantiation. Certain very evident 
propositions were unhesitatingly accepted as true 
by those who lived before the Gospel; but the mys- 
teries of our theology have shown that these propo- 
sitions, in spite of their evidence, are false. Let 
us profit by this lesson, and, in order not to fall 
into errors like those of the heathen, and thus less 
excusable, let us hold nothing as certainly true, 
save what is taught by Scripture. 

But let us notice the very special motives which 
Bayle gives for this attitude, apparently so submis- 
sive. Let us hear him speak successively to philos- 
ophers and theologians. ‘‘Do not try to understand 
mysteries,’’ he says to the former; “‘if you could 
understand them they would be mysteries no longer. 
Do not even try to lessen their apparent absurdity. 
Your reason here is utterly powerless; and who 
knows but that absurdity may be an essential ingre- 
dient of mystery? Believe as Christians; but as 
philosophers, abstain. And, turning to theolo- 
gians: ‘‘You are quite right in demanding that 
we should believe; but make this demand in the 
name of authority only, and do not be so imprudent 
as to try to justify your belief in the eyes of reason. 
God has willed it so, God has done so; therefore it 
is good and true, wisely done and wisely permitted. 
Do’ not 'venture’any further: Ifyou Venter. into 
detailed reasons for all this you will never see the 
end of it, and, after a thousand disputes, you will 
be compelled to fall back upon your original rea- 


>? 


BAYLE AND FONTENELLE. I15 


son, authority. In this matter, the best use to 
make of reason is not to reason. Moreover, if you 
consent to discuss the point, you will be beaten. 
You wish that truth—that is, revelation—should 
always have the best reasons on its side. You wish 
this to be so, and you imagine it to be so. What 
a gross mistake! How coulda theologian’s answers 
regarding mysteries, which are superior to reason, 
be as clear as a philosopher's objections? From 
the very fact that a dogma is mysterious and 
utterly incomprehensible to weak human _ under- 
standing, it inevitably follows that our reason will 
combat it with very strong arguments, and can find 
mo other satisfactory solution than the authority of 
God. 

‘“This is precisely what theologians do not often 
admit. Because I think the reasons they give in 
favor of the dogma are weak, they conclude that 
Imaomnot .pbclieve insthemaogmanm lishould not 
believe, indeed, if God had not bidden me to do 
so; but He commands and I submit. But He does 
not bid me regard demonstrations as sound when 
they are not. Theologians must choose: either 
they must affirm their dogmas in the name of a 
supernatural light, without discussion; or, if they 
discuss them, they must not assume that they have 
a monopoly of the truth. But they nearly always 
adopt a third method: they choose to discuss, and 
claim to be right beforehand. If any one candidly 
and in good faith points out the strength of the 
contrary opinion, they hate and suspect him.  In- 


116 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


deed, even theologians themselves hesitate to state 
the strongest arguments urged against them, lest 
these should produce too forcible an impression 
upon the reader. These arguments they conceal 
out of charity and zeal for truth. Was not Cardi- 
nal Bellarmin reproached for his candid statement 
of the arguments urged by heretics, on the ground 
that it was prejudicial to the cause of religion?’’ 

If, therefore, a theologian desires to act pru- 
dently, while remaining sincere, he must abstain 
from entering upon discussion in which he is sure 
to be beaten. He must present mysteries as they 
are—that is, asincomprehensible and absurd. The 
Christian will nevertheless believe in them, since 
they were revealed by God Himself. It is his sole 
reason for believing in them: but fortunately this 
reason is indisputable. One does not raise objec- 
tions against God. 


Yet Bayle did raise objections; and the stric- 
tures which he offered upon Providence elicited, as 
everybody knows, the Théodicée of Leibniz. 
According to Bayle, if we look upon things in a 
human way—i. e., from the point of view of mere 
reason, the advocates of Providence find it difficult 
to prove that everything in the universe is the work 
of Providence, and equally difficult to defend them- 
selves against the Manicheans, who maintain that a 
principle of good and a principle of evil are contin- 
ually at strife in the universe, and that neither is 
able to triumph over the other. No doubt, as God 


BAYLE AND FONTENELLE. I17 


is all-powerful and all-bounteous, His work cannot 
fail to be the best possible, and we thence naturally 
infer the existence of Providence. But does experi- 
ence confirm this reasoning? It does not; we see 
that man is wicked and miserable. Was the Creator 
unable or unwilling to make him otherwise? In 
either case it is very difficult to defend Providence. 
Were there nowadays, says Bayle, Marcionites as 
skilled in disputation as are either the Jesuits or the 
Jansenists, they would not have advanced three 
syllogisms ere they had compelled their adversary 
to confess that he did not understand his own 
assertions, and that here we come to the verge of 
the unfathomable abyss of the sovereignty of the 
Creator, in which our reason is lost, there remain- 
ing nothing but faith to uphold us. A pagan phi- 
losopher would have here an advantage over the 
Christian. 

It is evident that evil should be prevented, if 
possible. Now God does not prevent all the dis- 
orders in the world, and yet it was most easy for 
Him to do so. It is also evident that a non-exist- 
ent creature cannot be an accomplice in an evil 
deed, and that he ought not in justice to be pun- 
ished therefor. And yet, does not God allow all 
men to suffer the consequences of the original sin? 
Can this sin justify all the sufferings in the world? 
The conclusion is: Believe in Revelation. ‘°‘Rev- 
elation is the only storehouse from which arguments 
can be produced against such people; by it alone can 
we refute the alleged eternity of the evil principle.”’ 


118 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Leibniz had much ado to refute Bayle’s objec- 
tions. He shows indeed that the hypothesis of the 
Manicheans is shallow and that nothing is easier and 
shallower than to postulate a special principle in 
order to explain facts which puzzle us. But Bayle 
is perfectly willing to grant him this. Does Leib- 
niz in his turn succeed in proving man’s liberty and 
in vindicating Providence? Hardly. The liberty 
which Leibniz concedes to man is a form of deter- 
minism merely; and his proposed explanation of 
the existence of evil in the universe, perhaps the 
least unsatisfactory that could be given, has but 
one fault; but the fault is a serious one. It forces 
its readers into pessimism. If this world be indeed 
the best of all possible worlds, Candide is not wrong 
in thinking it bad. We must therefore agree with 
Bayle that Revelation is our only resource here, 
and that reason, pure and simple, does not bear out 
the same conclusion. 

But, one might object, the origin of evil, the 
cause of sin, and the relation of God to the world, 
are purely speculative questions, raised only by 
metaphysicians; and if reason finds it no easy thing 
to agree with Kevelation on these points, it has 
quite as much difficulty in agreeing with itself when 
thrown on its own resources. Human reason, says 
Bayle, is a principle of destruction and not of edifi- 
cation; it is fitted only for raising doubts and for 
evasions. It therefore matters little if on problems 
which are beyond its reach it runs counter to 
Revelation. At least we see clearly that the two 


BAYLE AND FONTENELLE. 11g 


agree on questions connected with practical life, 
that faith engenders virtue, and that religion sanc- 
tions the supreme rule of conduct. Here no diffi- 
culties or objections appear. 

True, says Bayle, but on one condition: religion 
must teach nothing contrary to morals. To be 
sure, it is unlikely to do so; yet sometimes it does. 
Indeed, have we not heard Fathers of the Church 
declaring, and contemporary priests repeating after 
them, that compulsion should be used to bring 
refractory people to the orthodox faith? Hence 
sprang the persecutions against heretics, the dragon- 
ades; hence the Protestants were hunted, pillaged, 
imprisoned, sent to the galleys, their children kid- 
naped, and their clergymen hanged; hence all the 
other methods of violent conversion set in motion 
when the Edict of Nantes was revoked. Now, not 
only are these proceedings absurd and even preju- 
dicial to their own end; not only are these persecu- 
tions cruel and abominable, but the maxim that 
justifies them is based on a wrong principle. God 
cannot have said ‘‘ Compelle intrare.’’ Just as there 
is no right against right, there is no Revelation 
against Revelation. Now, in moral matters, the 
first revelation is that of. the conscience, ‘‘the true 
light which lighteth every man which cometh into 
the world.’’ 

Bayle is here decidedly more affirmative than 
usual, and the cause is evidently the indignation he 
feels at the sight of persecutions. ‘‘If anybody pre- 
sumes to assert that God has revealed to us a moral 


120 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


maxim in direct opposition to the first principles of 
all morals, we must deny the assertion, and main- 
tain that such a person is misinterpreting the text 
and that one ought rather to reject the testimony 
of one’s criticism and grammar than that of one’s 
reason.’’ God cannot contradict "Himself: If the 
Scripture does not agree with our conscience, it is 
because we misunderstand the Scripture. And 
whatever contests may arise, conscience must 
always have the last word. For instance, it tells us 
that honest ignorance is guiltless, and that a man 
cannot be responsible for a fault which he commits, 
without knowing that he commits it. We cannot, 
therefore, believe that a heretic or even an infidel, 
if he is sincere, can be punished by God for any- 
thing but for evil deeds which he may have done 
while knowing them to be evil. As for the deeds 
he may have done with a clear conscience—I mean 
a conscience which he has not himself maliciously 
blinded—I cannot be persuaded that they are 
crimes. 

Likewise the stories in the Bible are not always 
edifying. If they shock my conscience, shall I 
abstain from condemning them? Because David, 
for instance, partook of God’s inspiration, shall I 
any the less regard him as a murderer, an ingrate, 
an adulterer? If the Scripture, in relating a deed, 
blames or praises it, nobody is at liberty to appeal 
from its judgment; we must all make our praise and 
blame conform to the pattern of the Scripture. 
But if the Holy Ghost has not characterized it we 


BAYLE AND FONTENELLE. I2n 


must not hesitate to censure what we think is a 
Crime: mea nere iS no middiem path i weither these 
actions are bad, or actions like them are not wrong. 
Of these alternatives, our conscience can accept only 
the first. 

Further, coming to the essence of the question, 
religious faith does not seem to have any influence 
whatever upon men’s conduct. We have only to 
look about us. If we examine the morals of Chris- 
tians, their lewd deeds, their slanders, their tricks, 
and all that they do in order to procure money, or 
to obtain offices, or to supplant competitors, we 
shall find that they could hardly be more licentious 
even if they did not believe in immortality. We 
shall find, as a rule, that they abstain only from 
such deeds as would expose them to infamy, or to 
the gallows, two checks which might restrain the 
corruption of a godless man as easily as theirs. <A 
great many rogues and scoundrels believe in the 
immortality of the soul, whereas many godly and 
righteous men do not. Soldiers may be irreproach- 
able in their faith, and yet indulge in all sorts of 
excesses. This is also seen in some women. There 
is nothing inexplicable about it. It is not the 
general opinions of the mind which determine our 
actions: it is the present passions of the heart; and, 
as the English psychologists of the nineteenth cen- 
tury very rightly say, ‘“‘coguttion does not produce 
action.’’ Thus (always excepting those who are 
led by God’s spirit), the faith a man has in a reli- 
gion is no guaranty for his conduct. On the con- 


I22 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


trary, it is often quite apt to rouse in his soul anger 
against those who think differently, fear, and a kind 
of zeal for devotional ceremonies, in the hope that 
these outward actions and a public confession of the 
true faith will screen his disorderly life and gain 
pardon for it some day. 

Thence arise momentous consequences, as Bayle 
very successfully maintains. If believing in certain 
dogmas has no necessary influence on the conduct 
of man, we may truly say that morals are inde- 
pendent of that belief. If Christians who are 
‘‘irreproachable as regards faith’’ lead an evil life, 
we must needs infer that righteous conduct is not 
inseparable from orthodoxy. We may therefore 
imagine a state composed of men believing neither 
in the existence of God nor in an after-life. Were 
they, however, zealous in caring for the public 
good, in repressing malefactors, in preventing quar- 
rels, in upholding the rights of widows and orphans, 
in encouraging fairness in business, who can doubt 
but such a state would bea highly civilized one? 
Throughout the eighteenth century this hypothesis 
of a “‘society of atheists’’ proposed by Bayle is dis- 
cussed, and though some, as Voltaire for instance, 
were annoyed by it, it still remains for many others 
a sort of ideal. 

Recapitulating Bayle’s views of the mysteries of 
religion and of belief in the supernatural, it appears 
that from the point of view of knowledge such 
mysteries are offensive to reason and seem absurd; 
from the point of view of morals, they do not make 


BAYLE AND FONTENELLE. 123 


man any better, and are, to say the least, useless. 
What is to be inferred from this? That we may 
dispense with the belief in the supernatural and 
with mysteries; that we must seek what is good and 
true by human reason alone? Far from it. Bayle’s 
conclusion is the very opposite of this. Behold, 
he says in substance, the weakness and helplessness 
of human reason! If God did not teach us the 
truth, would our reason bring us to it? Reason is 
very far from it, and is ignorant of the ways that 
lead to it. Therefore, how much gratitude do we 
owe to Divine Goodness, which has especially 
revealed to us through the Scripture what we 
should never have discovered by ourselves and what 
would even seem to us absurd and unacceptable 
were it not corroborated in this way! 

One cannot carry submissiveness farther. How 
can a man be suspected of impiety who does not 
hesitate a moment to silence reason when Revela- 
tion speaks? Still we may question whether this 
submission is without reserve, whether this respect- 
fulness comes from the heart or only from the lips. 
If he is sincere why does not Bayle, after the 
example of Malebranche, seek to make the inward 
revelation, which is conscience, agree with the 
outward revelation, which is the Scripture? Why 
does he purposely insist on the impossibility of 
making acceptable to reason what religion com- 
mands us to believe? And if insincere, his lan- 
guage becomes a dreadful irony. In this case 
Bayle’s defense of religion looks like a deliberate, 


124 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


organized attack upon it; when he speaks of the 
“‘weakness and helplessness of reason,’’ he really 
means the incomprehensibility and absurdity of 
revelation. In a word, with a show of deep 
respect, he patiently destroys one after another all 
the reasons for believing in the dogmas of religion. 
When he has finished, revealed religion can no 
longer hold its own; it is on the verge of ruin. 

Therefore the works of Bayle, particularly his 
Dictionary, were an inexhaustible store for the unbe- 
lievers of the eighteenth century. To take but one 
instance among a thousand, this is the way he fore- 
shadows those who took advantage of the defects 
in the sacred texts. ‘‘Were such an account to be 
found in Thucydides or Livy, all critics would 
unanimously conclude that the copyists had trans- 
posed the pages, forgotten something in one place, 
repeated something in another, or inserted spurious 
passages amidst the work of the author. But we 
must beware of such suspicions when the Bible is in 
question. Nevertheless, there have been persons 
bold enough to maintain that not all the chapters 
or verses in the First Book of Samuel occupy the 
place they originally: had.’’ Suffer this cautious 
remark to pass and all of modern Biblical exegesis 
follows. 

It accordingly matters little that Bayle is inca- 
pable of systematic thought; that he appears now as 
a Cartesian and now as a Pyrrhonian; that at one 
time evidence dispels his doubt and that again his 
doubt attacks all evidence; and that he actually 


BAYLE AND FONTENELLE. 125 


seems to take pleasure in these contradictions. The 
eddies do not prevent us from perceiving clearly 
the direction’ of the streams Bayle is \bent’ ‘on 
nothing less than breaking up the system of belief 
and principles commonly accepted by his predeces- 
sors and contemporaries, the system of “‘Christian 
rationalism.’’ Bayle shows that a choice is imper- 
ative: either one must be a rationalist and cease to 
be a Christian; or be a Christian, and forego reason 
altogether. Scriptural texts had been relied on; 
Bayle gives us to understand that these texts are not 
proof against criticism. Religion had been looked 
upon as the basis of morals; Bayle proves that 
morals depend solely upon the conscience, and that 
religion, even genuine religion, has no influence 
whatever upon men’s conduct. It was thought—at 
least in France—that royalty was of divine right: 
but, says Bayle, ‘‘if we do not more often see kings 
dethroned, it is because the nations have not been 
worked upon by clever enough intrigues.’’ We 
might make the enumeration longer, for the estab- 
lished opinions and hereditary privileges that Bayle 
questioned were not few. No one, indeed, was to 
go further than this precursor of Rationalism. And 
even in our days his conception of morals as inde- 
pendent of religion and metaphysics seems to many 
people dangerously bold. 


Between Bayle and Fontenelle there is the 
greatest conceivable difference, and this difference 
is noticeable even in their fortunes and modes of 


126 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


life. Attentive only to his work and heedless of 
everything else, in Rotterdam Bayle endured with 
fortitude both poverty and the insulting attacks 
of his enemies. Fontenelle, a provincial wit crav- 
ing for literary success in Paris, fairly ‘‘elbowed his 
way’’ into the world, and rose to a dominant posi- 
tion in the academies. Bayle knew almost every- 
thing that could be learned from the books of the 
past, and on this vast material he exerted his inde- 
fatigable and subtle powers of dialectic. Fonte- 
nelle looked almost with disdain upon the rubbish 
of erudition, but, on the other hand, he was a 
mathematician. He had a taste for the exact 
sciences; he had reflected upon them, and had a 
clear presentiment of what they were very soon to 
become. Thus the work of the one completes in 
some sort the work of the other. 

Fontenelle is a Cartesian, but an independent 
one, who does not regard himself bound to adhere 
to all the doctrines of Descartes. Thus we shall 
see that he rejects the doctrine of the automatism 
of animals, and also that he deems the Cartesian 
system of metaphysics untenable. But he fol- 
lows Descartes implicitly in his conception of 
method and of science, which above all require 
clearness, as well as in the part which he assigns 
to mathematics. ‘‘What is true is simple and 
clear; and when our way of arriving at the 
truth is intricate and confused, we may say the way 
leads to the truth, but that it is nevertheless not 
the true way.’’ The right method requires that 


BAYLE AND FONTENELLE. 127 


we begin with principles and that the consequences 
spring directly from them. Fontenelle therefore 
looks upon mathematics as ‘‘the universal instru- 
ment.’ This instrument cannot be made too far- 
reaching or too flexible. Mechanics, optics, acous- 
tics, in short, all the sciences which reveal definite 
relations between measurable quantities are ad- 
vanced farther and more surely according as the art 
of discovering relations in general grows more 
perfect. 

nispis’ exactly )tiemenitn ofthe. \ Cartesian 
method, and therefore it is not surprising that 
Fontenelle should also have declared for that con- 
ception of the universe upheld by the disciples of 
Descartes. We do not belittle the universe, he 
says, when we maintain that it is ona large scale 
what a watch is in miniature. On the contrary, it 
is beautiful to contemplate that the order of nature, 
marvelous as it is, rests on such simple principles. 
Everything in it takes place according to the laws of 
mechanics and geometry; and as to matters in 
physics which cannot be brought to such a degree 
of clearness—for instance the fermentation of 
liquors, the diseases of animals, etc.,—it is not that 
geometry does not dominate them, but that it 
there becomes obscure and almost impenetrable on 
account of the too great complexity of the figures. 

All his life Fontenelle adhered to that corpuscu- 
lar philosophy which admits clear ideas of figures 
and motions only. If we reject this philosophy, we 
shall fall into thoughts which may be ever so plaus- 


128 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


ible, noble, or brilliant, but which will not fail to 
be wanting in clearness. This was an evident allu- 
sion to the system of Newton. The Newtonian 
system is essentially based upon ‘‘attraction, 
which is ‘‘a very obscure and questionable prin- 
ciple;’’ whereas the Cartesian system is based on 
purely mechanical principles, which are acknowl- 
edged by everybody. While to the last giving 
full credit to the mathematical genius of Newton, 
Fontenelle maintains against him the Cartesian 


>? 


hypothesis of vortices. 

And indeed he had been indebted to this hy- 
pothesis for the great success of his youth. His 
fintretiens sur la Plurahté des Mondes had made the 
meaning of this hypothesis accessible to society 
men and even to women; it was a work of elegant 
popularization, in which Fontenelle’s faults were no 
less useful to him than his excellences. 

On the other hand, Fontenelle ignores Des- 
cartes’s metaphysics, which he knows but slightly 
and does not care to understand better. Not that 
he prefers any other system of metaphysics: it is 
metaphysics itself which seems to him of little im- 
portance. He already speaks of it as many scien- 
tific men did afterward, with an indifference half 
politeness, half contempt; as if metaphysicians were 
a species of ingenious and inoffensive artists who took 
delight in constructing more or less plausible sys- 
tems, but could not claim to be earnest seekers of 
truth. Fontenelle compares metaphysicians to his- 
torians, which with him is equivalent to placing 


BAYLE AND FONTENELLE. I29 


them as far as possible from the mathematician or 
physicist—that is, from the real man of science. 
s bacitusvand , Descartes; #ahe says; I. take to:be 
two great inventors of systems of very different 
kinds, equally bold, of equally lofty and fruitful 
genius, and by these very tokens equally liable to 
error.’’ Soon after this, we find Voltaire calling 
the philosophy of Descartes a “‘romance,’’ and 
criticising him for his excess of imagination. 
Furthermore Fontenelle himself says, as Voltaire 
does afterward, that Descartes proved by his own 
example the uselessness of metaphysical research. 
‘‘Should the systems of Descartes and of Leibniz 
both sink under hostile objections, it would be 
necessary for philosophers— and a very painful 
necessity for them—to cease puzzling over the 
union of the soul with the body. The example of 
Descartes and Leibniz both would justify them in 
seeking the secret no longer.’’ 

But there remains one metaphysical problem in 
which Fontenelle does not cease to take an interest; 
it is that of the existence of God, to which he 
recurs on several occasions. And here again he is 
less a follower of Descartes than a precursor of 
Voltaire. He rejects metaphysical proofs as too 
subtle. He proposes a different mode of demon- 
stration, which he thinks is new, and which is taken 
from the origin of animal species; in general, we 
may say, he endeavors to prove the existence of 
God «by the ‘consideration; of nature;\, ‘“Drue 
physics,’’ he says, “‘rises to the point of becoming 


130 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN -FRANCE. 


a@sortiot theology. 1S wtnicmiurerely "dur arial 
phrase, a canopy to hide his wares, or one of those 
popular opinions ‘‘which must be treated tenderly 
and’ considerately?) "lt asm dincult” to i decide, 
Nothing proves Fontenelle to have been insincere 
on this point. As he accepts literally the compar- 
ison of the universe to a watch, it is but natural 
that the comparison of God to a supreme watch- 
maker should satisfy him. ‘‘This great work,’’ he 
says, ‘“‘which grows more wonderful as it becomes 
better known, gives us an exceedingly lofty idea of 
Him who wrought it.’’ A perfectly clear repre- 
sentation of the physical universe here leads Fonte- 
nelle to a representation, likewise perfectly clear 
but rather puerile and superficial, of the relation 
between God and the world. It is, so to speak, 
the price of clearness, in a subject which does not 
admit of it. But the successors of Fontenelle in 
the eighteenth century are not conscious of this 
drawback, and most of them prefer Fontenelle’s 
conception of Divinity to the incomparably deeper 
and finer one which they might have found in Des- 
cartes or Spinoza. 

As in his successors, there is noticeable in Fon- 
tenelle also a covert spite against the priesthood, 
and a tendency to explain positive religions by 
stupidity, ignorance, error, a childish taste for the 
marvelous and man’s natural imbecility, exploited 
by his shrewder fellows. ‘‘Wholesome _ philoso- 
phy,’’ by spreading light, baffles these clever folks 
and dispels superstition. Fontenelle, indeed, does 


BAYLE AND FONTENELLE. Dai 


not openly attack the Christian religion. In his 
Fiestotre Wes Oracles he assails only the pagan 
priests. In this work he summarizes a ponderous 
Latin book, written by a Dutchman, who seeks to 
prove that oracles were never inspired by demons, 
and that they disappeared, as they had arisen, 
solely as the result of natural causes. 

But what motives had Fontenelle or his readers 
to feel interested in the disappearance of oracles 
that had already veen silent for more than fifteen 
centuries? Instead of ‘‘oracles’’ read ‘‘miracles,’’ 
and the work of Fontenelle will at once have a 
modern meaning, and at the same time seem singu- 
larly aggressive. We understand, then, what he 
means when he explains that a belief in ‘‘oracles”’ 
musoeber attributed \tomthemtaste of men) forthe 
supernatural, and to the cravings of an imagination 
not yet regulated by reason; or when he says that 
supernatural phenomena cease to be produced as 
soon as there are witnesses of a somewhat critical 


turn of mind. ‘‘When oracles began to appear in 
the world, philosophy, fortunately for them, had not 
yet appeared.’’ Fontenelle dwells at length upon 


the impostures and artifices of priests. Everything 
centered about them, and had any one dared to 
breathe a word against them he would have been 
cried down as an atheist and a blasphemer. ‘‘The 
priests in the temples repudiated kinship with the 
mountebanks in the streets because they were them- 
selves mountebanks of a nobler and more serious 
stripe— which makes a great difference in that 


132 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


trade.’’ Notice, pray, the tone of scorn and hatred 
in these words; it will often resound again in the 
eighteenth century. It is true, I repeat, that Fon- 
tenelle is speaking here only of pagan priests. But 
as he observes in the same work, that by feigning 
to maintain a thing one insinuates the contrary as 
cunningly as one can, ‘‘because of the regard one 
must needs have for popular opinion,’’ it is hardly 
possible to misapprehend his intentions. 


Fontenelle has not by any means a historical 
turn of mind. But, unlike the pure Cartesians, 
who neglected history outright, he devoted much 
attention to it; and in his reflections on this subject 
two contrary tendencies counterbalance each other, 
both of which we shall meet again in the course of 
the century. Sometimes he considers man as being 
always and everywhere identical in his essence, 
and when this abstract idea of humanity is upper- 
most historical events are to him but of secondary 
interest and serve only to confirm what he infers 
from his general conception. At others, induced 
by physics and incipient physiology to take into 
account the great complexity of the facts of reality, 
and thus put on his guard against systems, he 
evinces curiosity concerning primitive and savage 
humanity, and foresees the possibility of comparative 
ethnography, of scientific anthropology, and finally 
of extending to sociology the method of the natural 
sciences. These two tendencies do not express 
themselves clearly enough in his mind to be antag- 


BAYLE AND FONTENELLE. ny Pete) 


onistic; rather they co-exist. They mingle together 
as best they can, and express themselves by indi- 
cations as yet uncertain, but bound to develop in 
the future. 

The first of these tendencies shows itself in a 
very curious way in Fontenelle’s idea of construct- 
ing history a priort. ‘‘A man of great skill,’’ he 
says, ““simply by considering human nature, might 
guess all past and future history, without ever hav- 
ing heard of a single event. Such a man would 
say: ‘Human nature is composed of ignorance, 
Gredulity wand: vanity, nere) and) thereta 
little kindness, etc.” He would call up before his 
mind the details of a multitude of facts which either 
have actually happened, or are quite similar to facts 
that have happened. This method of learning his- 
tory would assuredly not be a bad one; one would 
be at the fountain-head of things, and would 
thence, as a mere diversion, behold the consequences 
which had been foreseen.”’ 

That such a treatment of the subject is imprac- 
ticable, Fontenelle is very well aware; yet he men- 
tions it more than half seriously, and rather as an 
ideal than as a jest. He seems to take no account 
of the widely different conditions in which the 
development of the various nations really takes 
place; the surface of the globe is simply conceived 
in an abstract way as so much space inhabited by 
a homogeneous population called mankind. Where- 
fore this paradox? Because only in this way can 
history approximate the form of a science as con- 


134 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


ceived by Descartes, and become what was after: 
ward called sociology. All real sciences imply a 
prophecy of the future, based on the analysis of 
present reality. And if sociology ever becomes a 
science, it will enable us in some measure to foresee 
the future and so to prepare for it. Fontenelle 
had a distinct vision of that sociology, and he was 
aware that it depended on a knowledge of the laws 
which govern the progress of the human mind, 
He holds that we ought to study the process by 
which tastes, customs and opinions succeed one 
another in the minds of men, and above all the law 
which governs the process, for in most cases it is not 
by mere chance that one taste succeeds another; there 
is generally a necessary, though hidden, link. ‘‘One 
would then conceive a history of the human mind as 
a succession of thoughts which spring up among the 
Nationsone jaiter another, Vorrather, one) irom 
another, the concatenation of which, being duly 
observed, might give rise to some sort of prophecy.’’ 

This was in the days of Fontenelle quite a new 
idea, and it was destined to bea fruitful one. It 
led Fontenelle to wonderfully correct views of 
mythology, the profundity of which has been noted 
by Mr. Andrew Lang in his recent book, Wyths, 
Cults and Religions. Fontenelle observed the child- 
ish and crude character of Greek myths, and found 
that they did not differ in this from those which are 
to be met with in the infancy of all other nations. 
He concluded that they were a spontaneous pro- 
duction of ignorant and untutored imaginations, 


BAYLE AND FONTENELLE. 135 


and that in order to explain them there was no need 
to have recourse to anything else than the simple 
elements of human nature. ‘‘Wecan hardly realize 
nowadays the state of ignorance and barbarism of 
the primeval times. Let us picture to ourselves 
the. Kaffirs, the. Laplanders, the Iroquois, and let 
us remember at the same time that these peoples, 
being already ancient, must have attained to a cer- 
tain degree of knowledge and cultivation which 
ne Gone 
sequently, when we are shocked by the revolting 
immorality of these fables, it is preposterous to seek 
for a moral interpretation of them, or, when struck 
by their childish absurdity, to suppose therein any 
primitive symbolical explanation of certain natural 
phenomena. We must not attribute to the authors 
of these fables our own habits of thought; on the 
contrary, we must go back, if we can, to the intel- 
lectual state which gave rise to them, and which 
humanity everywhere went through as a necessary 
state of its evolution. Thus can we explain ‘‘the 
wonderful similitude between the fables of the 


9 


were wanting in men of the earliest ages. 


Greeks and those of the primitive Americans.’ 
Men of all countries have pictured to themselves the 
Unknown under the shape of what was known to 
them, and represented beings more { owerful than 
themselves, yet like themselves. As man becomes 
civilized, his gods become less brutal and shocking. 
This philosophy of the earliest ages had, then, its 
foundation in human nature itself. ‘‘It is not sci- 
ence,’’ Fontenelle concludes, ‘‘to fill our heads full 


136 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


of the extravagant beliefs of the Phoenicians and 
Greeks, but it is science to know what led the Phe- 
nicians and Greeks to these extravagant beliefs.’”’ 
True; but to establish comparative mythology we 
must have an exact knowledge of the different 
series of myths. Too often did the French philos- 
ophers of the eighteenth century see what was to 
be done, and fail to do it because they hastily tried 
to interpret before they were in full possession of 
what was to be interpreted. 

Fontenelle was thus quite prepared by his habit- 
ual turn of thought to intervene in the famous con- 
tention between the ancients and the moderns, 
which broke out at the end of the seventeenth cen- 
tury. The comparative merits of Homer, Pindar, 
Sophocles, Corneille, Racine, Moliére, etc., were 
then generally discussed from a purely literary point 
of view. Fontenelle deals with the question asa 
philosopher and sociologist. He inquires whether 
there has been any progress since ancient times, 
and how progress is to be understood. Like Pas- 
cal, he compares the succession of men of all times 
to a single man living forever and learning continu- 
ally. This man was a child when he was busied 
only with the more pressing needs of life; and a 
youth when his imagination principally was exer- 
cised. He has now attained to manhood when he 
has more reasoning power. But the comparison 
here comes to an end, for this symbolical man would 
have no old age. Progress will be unlimited. 

Fontenelle makes use of two principles to solve 


BAYLE AND FONTENELLE. 137 


the question of the ancients and moderns, at least 
as regards the sciences. | 

In the first place, he lays down the doctrine of 
the natural equalty of minds. We have seen that, 
according to Fontenelle, humanity always remains 
uniform in its essence. Centuries, therefore, cause 
no natural differences between men. The climate 
of Greece or Italy and that of France are too similar 
to cause any obvious differences between the Greeks 
and Latins and the French. And should they give 
rise to differences, these would be easily canceled 
and would not be more to their advantage than to 
ours. We are, then, perfectly equal, be we ancients 
or moderns, Greek or French. But may not nature 
favor certain centuries by producing in them a 
greater number of superior men? This is unlikely. 
There might be at most some imperceptible inequal- 
ity; but the general order of nature seems to be 
quite constant. The oaks and poplar trees in our 
fields are like to those which stood there in the 
olden times. It is not otherwise with mankind. 

The difference, therefore, proceeds only from 
the necessary succession of discovertes. The ancients 
could not do more in their time. They did what 
our best minds would have done in their place, 
and, were they in ours, it is probable that they 
would have the same views as we have; for there 
is a necessary order which regulates our progress. 
Every stage of knowledge is developed only after a 
certain range of preceding knowledge has been 
attained, and when its turn hascome. Fortunately 


138 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


this law was for a long time ignored. Men con- 
ceived unreasonable hopes, which encouraged them 
to work. Chemistry would not have existed but for 
alchemy; and should we possess the discoveries 
made by the alchemists if they had not fancied they 
would succeed in making gold? ‘‘Men must have 
an imaginary goal to allure them. But now the 
sciences are in a fair way to succeed, and when we 
behold the progress they have made during the last 
century, in spite of prejudices, obstacles and the 
small number of scientific men, we might almost be 
tempted to let our hopes for the future rise too 
high. We shall see new sciences springing out of 
nothingness, while ours are stillin the cradle.’’ On 
the subject of the future of science the cold mind of 
Fontenelle is kindled almost to enthusiasm. He 
even goes so far as to say in the eulogy of a mathe- 
matician, that ““with good logic and good medicine 
men would need nothing more.’ 

Therefore August Comte, who adopted several 
of these ideas into his system, was not wrong in 
looking upon Fontenelle as a precursor of modern 
times. True, his mind, though most lucid, was 
lacking in extent and. power. He was incapable of 
even a moderate degree of synthesis. He could 
produce nothing beyond pamphlets and fragments. 
We may expect of him only views of details. But 
these views are sometimes strangely strong, bold 
and deep. It is not to be denied that Fontenelle 
was among the first who had a distinct notion of 
scientific progress and of the intellectual develop- 
ment of mankind under fixed laws. 


> 


CHAPTER IV: 


MONTESQUIEU. 


The eighteenth century in France, at least as 
regards philosophy, may be divided distinctly in 
the middle. It was about 1750 that Rousseau, 
Diderot, Buffon and Condillac began to produce 
their chief works. It was in 1751 that D’Alembert 
published the preliminary discourse to the Excyclo- 
pedia. Voltaire covers nearly the whole of the 
century. But Montesquieu belongs only to the 
first half. He was born in 1689, and saw the end 
Oretiereion of; Louis wUViee Lhe Lees, Persanes 
appeared under the Regency, and are full of allu- 
sions to the king, who had just passed away. 
Montesquieu’s last and most important work, 
Herispric aes /.01S,. GatcsmiLommnn7 4c. , cre) diednin 
1755. 

Accordingly, Montesquieu exercised an influence 
upon the other ‘‘philosophers’’ of the age without 
feeling theirs, especially as he spent the latter years 
of his life almost uninterruptedly in his mansion at 
La Bréde. Paris, though loved in his youth, then 
palled upon him, and his visits there were but 
brief. He thus ceased to be in direct contact with 
his fellow-writers, a fact which he does not seem to 
have very much regretted. To tell the truth, he 

139 


I40 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


always occupied a distinct and separate place in 
the literary world. In those days a man of letters 
was usually a poor devil who scribbled for bread 
and aspired to a pension, and whose language on 
some subjects too often reflected his obligations, 
his hopes, or his disappointments. Voltaire, who 
early comprehended the necessity of being inde- 
pendent, succeeded in this by acquiring wealth; but 
that wealth came rather late, and the period which 
preceded was not without troubles and bitterness. 
Montesquieu, on the contrary, was exempted from 
the two-fold struggle for existence and for position. 
He belonged to an honorable family of magistrates. 
He was heir to one of his uncles, who bequeathed 
to him, together with his name, his judicial office 
in Bordeaux. He made money on his vineyards, 
and left to his children a fortune which had pros- 
pered in his hands. 

The personal circumstances of Montesquieu had 
their significance. Bold assertions, which would 
have seemed more offensive in the mouth of a man 
not so ‘‘well-to-do,’’ were more easily tolerated 
coming from him. He uttered them in a calmer 
tone, with more gravity and moderation. Even 
after he had sold his office, the fact of having been 
a magistrate left him some authority. When he 
expresses the opinion that a reform of the penal law 
or of criminal jurisprudence would be desirable, it is 
quite another thing than if the reform were demanded 
by an “‘unqualified individual’’ who ran the risk of 
being sent to the Bastille if his ideas offended a 


MONTESQUIEU. 141 


minister of state. There is, however, another side 
to the picture: Class-prejudices are evident in 
Montesquieu. He supports the privileges of the 
nobility, and endeavors to defend the sale of judi- 
cial’ offices. — But he ‘wasjafori all, that, liberal- 
minded, devoted: to the public good, and desirous 
of advancing his contemporaries towards Justice and 
humanity. 

The Lettres Persanes undoubtedly owed much of 
their swift and brilliant success to their vivacious 
style and pungent satire, as well as to their descrip- 
tion of scenes of harem life; but at the same time 
they@utoretell the.‘authommoter.: Lsjrzt, des. lors: 
Reflections on the nature and principles of govern- 
ment, on the foundations of society and on natural 
justice, on the law of nations, on Roman policy, 
on the English constitution, and on penal laws, are 
all cunningly introduced into the Lettres Persanes. 
If we read them over after LZ’ Zstrit des Lois we seem 
better able to see through the complex and rather 
secretive nature of Montesquieu, who never quite 
reveals himself. Voltaire, who had no sympathy 
with him, and yet devoted considerable attention to 
him, not kindly but discerningly, characterizes 
Montesquieu as a statesman, a philosopher, a wit 
and a citizen. The philosopher, the statesman, the 
citizen already show themselves in the Lettyves Per- 
sanes; the wit also appears in L’£sprit des Lots, 
though he occupies there a subordinate place. 

It took Montesquieu twenty years to work out 
the plan and gather the materials of what he calls 


142 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


his masterpiece. He prepared himself for it by 
wide and varied reading, which became more fruit- 
ful as he grew surer of what he wished to do. He 
traveled over a great part of Europe, made a long 
stay in Italy, and a longer one in England. He 
undoubtedly did not derive from these travels all 
the profit one might expect. The account of his — 
journey to Austria and Italy, recently published by 
Baron de Montesquieu, was rather disappointing; 
and though we have no account of his journey to 
England, he has said enough on the subject else- 
where to show that even on things he was most 
interested in he did not gather information with the 
accuracy and precision of a man of science. But 
at that time most writers were less particular in this 
respect than in our days. In England Montesquieu 
frequented a society dissolute in morals, infidel in 
religion, skeptical in philosophy, but  withal 
extremely intelligent. He was able to see and to 
understand what he saw. Inaccuracy in the details 
did not prevent his observations from giving a gen- 
eral impression of veracity which was not disputed 
by his contemporaries. Every one knows that 
Montesquieu was nowhere better appreciated than 
in England. 


L'Esprit des Lois is a grand, lofty and enigmatic 
title. It is interpreted, at least partially, by the 
sub-title: ‘‘Of the relation which the laws should 
bear to the constitution of each government, to 
manners, climate, religion, trade, etc.,’’ although 


MONTESQUIEU. 143 


the unfinished enumeration leaves some perplexity 
in our minds. It is nothing less than a political 
and social philosophy, conceived after a new plan, 
and Montesquieu was quite justified in choosing as 
the motto of his book: Prolem sine matre creatam. 

His predecessors, to whom he alludes in his 
preface, had not the same object in view. Some, 
. as Grotius and Pufendorf, treated especially the 
theory of the law of nations. Others, like Hobbes, 
spoke as philosophers on the origin of society and 
the nature of the state; or like More and other 
Utopian dreamers of the sixteenth century, set up 
an ideal city in contrast tothe real states they had 
before their eyes. Harrington, Algernon Sidney 
and Locke had written entirely from an English 
point of view. Locke’s two treatises On Civil Gov- 
ernment go back to first principles only in so far as 
it was necessary to vindicate the Revolution of 
1688 and the conditions imposed upon the Prince 
of Orange, afterwards William ITI. 

The work of Montesquieu is entirely different. 
It deals with political realities, and takes its mate- 
rials from history and from observed facts; herein 
Montesquieu stands apart from the dreamers, but 
he differs also from Locke in not devoting his atten- 
tion to the practical, or at least immediate, appli- 
cation of his theories. His aim is to study, asa 
philosopher, and in a strictly methodical way, that 
body of realities which was afterwards to become 
the subject of social science or sociology. Thus 
L'Esprit des Lois is, properly speaking, neither a 


144 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


philosophy of politics nora philosophy of history, 
nor a philosophy of law, nor a philosophy of polit- 
ical economy; for none of these sciences is here 
considered by itself, but all of them are studied in 
their natural relations so as to deduce the princi- 
ples which are common to them. Montesquieu’s 
originality consists in having fully perceived in the 
various series of social phenomena that solidarity 
by which each of these contributes to limit the 
others, and is in its turn limited by them: For 
instance, if the government of a country is a mon- 
archy, the laws concerning education, luxury, 
trade, the condition of women, the liberty of citi- 
zens, etc., will necessarily be adapted to that 
political form; in a republican country they will be 
different. Social phenomena are thus subject to 
fixed attendant conditions, and can form only defi- 
nite systems. 

In a word, there are /aws of laws: the political, 
civil and penal laws of any society are regulated, 
in their nature, their development, and even their 
form, by natural laws—that is, according to Mon- 
tesquieu’s celebrated definition, by the necessary 
relations derived from the nature of things. <A 
profound thought, which tends to nothing less 
than subjecting to scientific form and method a vast 
domain hitherto neglected or regarded as inacces- 
sible. A profound thought also, to seek the mani- 
festation of those ‘‘laws of laws’’ in the mutual 
dependency of the various orders of social phe- 
nomena. Montesquieu thus assumes a point of 


MONTESQUIEU. 145 


view superior to that of the jurist, the historian and 
the politician, and from which he overlooks them 
all. He shows, by means of history, how laws are 
modified in accordance with political forms—and in 
accordance not only with these, but also with the 
climate, the nature of the soil, the facilities for 
trade, etc. This was already a remarkable attempt 
. towards a sociologic synthesis. Well could Mon- 
tesquieu speak of the ‘‘majesty’’ of his subject. 
The conception is a fine one, and we may easily 
understand that it produced a deep impression at 
the time of its appearance. 

Unfortunately the performance did not equal 
the conception. It undoubtedly has great merits. 
Despite a subject so austere and so unfamiliar to 
the very great majority of his readers, Montesquieu 
succeeded in not seeming dull to his contemporaries. 
He avoids the danger of being a doctrinaire and the 
no less formidable one of seeming partisan. He 
really looks upon all this political and social mate- 
rial with the eyes of a philosopher. Uneven as the 
work is, it is full of things both new and striking, 
which command attention and bear the impress of 
vigorous thought. All this is true, but it must be 
confessed it does not prevent L’Asprit des Lots from 
being but a poor fulfillment of the beautiful plan 
stated in the preface and the first chapters. There 
are several reasons for this incongruity. Some are 
in the very nature of the subject; others in the 
character and spirit of Montesquieu himself. 

Auguste Comte has clearly shown that Mon- 


146 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


tesquieu’s attempt could not have been successful, 
because it was premature. In order that scientific 
sociology might be established it was essential that 
biology should be sufficiently advanced: for social 
phenomena, although not reducible to physiological 
phenomena, are yet closely united with the latter. 
In order to study social phenomena to any purpose, 
it is indispensable to be already reasonably well 
acquainted with the laws of the development of the 
human race and of its organic, intellectual and 
moral functions—laws which biology alone can dis- 
cover. Now, at the time when Montesquieu 
wrote, biology as a science did not exist; hardly 
had chemistry, on which biology in its turn is 
immediately dependent, begun to bea science. It 
was therefore inevitable that Montesquieu should 
be ‘unacquainted with the method which would 
have been suitable for the science of which he had 
conceived the idea; that he should seek a model 
among the methods of sciences already existing in 
his time—i. e., among the mathematical and 
physical sciences; and, as such a method is wholly 
unsuited to the investigation of sociologic laws, 
that there should be a sort of perpetual contradic- 
tion between Montesquieu’s right apprehension of 
the subject he treats and the wrong method he 
applies to it. 

That Montesquieu knew and admired the 
method of Descartes is beyond doubt. To be con- 
vinced of this, one only need to remember the 
lectures on physics and physiology which he deliv- 


MONTESQUIEU. 147 


ered ,beforey the Academy? ofyBordeaux.\ In *ithe 
Lettres Persanes, many a maxim reveals the Cartesian 
infiuence; this’ one; forsinstances, / bhenmakerw of 
nature gave motion to matter; no more was 
needed to produce the wonderful variety of effects 
we behold in the universe.’’ Finally, in his pre- 
face to L'Esprit des Lots, Montesquieu explicitly 
_ announces his intention of using the deductive 
method. ‘“‘I have laid down the general princi- 
ples, and I have seen that particular cases adapt 
themselves to these as of their own accord, that 
the histories of all nations are but the conse- 
quences of them, and that each particular law is 
connected with some other law, or depends upon 
some more general ones) Wea e Alter, bhad found 
out my principles, all that I was seeking came to 
me.’’ Montesquieu therefore really places, as 
Descartes does, the essential part of his method in 
the process which derives the particular from the 
universal, the complex from the simple, the conse- 
quence from the principle, in short, in deduction. 

In fact, however, nothing is less deductive than 
L’ Esprit des Lois. The reader will rather think him- 
self in the presence of something badly put 
together, fragmentary and desultory. This impres- 
sion is somewhat lessened as we look closer, but it 
does not disappear altogether. It may be so vivid 
that competent judges (not to mention Voltaire 
himself) have gone so far as to compare Mon- 
tesquieu to his fellow-countryman, Montaigne, and 
to say that these two Gascons, though extremely 


148 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


witty and deeply skilled in the art of style, were 
unacquainted with the art of composition. This is 
going too far, at least as regards Montesquieu; 
nevertheless, the mere fact of its having been pos- 
sible, without any absurdity, to draw a comparison 
between Montaigne and a writer who piqued him- 
self upon following the Cartesian method is signifi- 
cant enough. Shall we say that Montesquieu 
wished, at any cost, to avoid monotony, to keep 
awake the reader’s interest, and to puzzle him by 
the curious arrangement of books and chapters? 
This may be, but a deeper reason may explain the 
condition of Montesquieu’s book. If it is wanting 
“in continuity, it is because the deductive reasoning, 
on the one hand, and the facts, on the other hand, 
do not connect. The deduction remains purely 
abstract, while the facts, of which Montesquieu col- 
lected such a vast number and the importance of 
which he duly felt, have little to do with the 
demonstration. Montesquieu usually infers a con- 
sequence from a given principle by reasoning alone. 
For instance, from the notion of a despotic or 
republican government, he infers the condition of 
women to be thus and so. In support of his con- 
clusion, he quotes indifferently either a law in 
China, orfonesamone the ancient Greeks, “onan 
anecdote borrowed from the Travels of Chardin. 
He does not perceive that a fact thus set apart 
from its surroundings has no scientific or sociologic 
value whatever. 

Montesquieu therefore lacked a method enabling 


MONTESQUIEU. 149 


him to treat of sociological facts in the proper way. 
How can we wonder at this, when sociologists in 
our days have not yet been able to agree on their 
method? And yet they have before their eyes the 
comparative method employed in biology, which 
has given such favorable results, but which was 
unknown in the time of Montesquieu. As he had 
- no idea of this comparative method (the only one 
applicable, however, when we study organic beings), 
he conceives social facts to be of the nature of 
physical phenomena, which are the same in all 
times and places. A given physical experiment, 
being performed under the same conditions, must 
give the same result, be it in London, in Paris or 
in Pekin. From this beginning Montesquieu thinks 
himself justified in borrowing his examples indiffer- 
ently from Tacitus or Confucius. He arrives in 
this manner at the abstract idea of mankind as 
always and everywhere like unto itself, an idea 
which continued to prevail during the eighteenth 
century in France, though it was opposed by the 
celebrated theory of the influence of climate, a 
theory of which Montesquieu himself is the author. 

Thus, if Montesquieu often seems to lack sys- 
tem, it is not for want of endeavor to acquire it. 
One might even reproach him with being too sys- 
tematic (for instance, in his theory of constitutions) 
hadshe not; fortunately faitaste tor facts): In him 
the historian and the keen observer of political 
things happily compensate for the philosopher badly 
prepared to build asociologicsystem. The original 


I50 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


conception of the whole belongs to the latter; but 
it was the former who wrote the more permanent 
parts of L’ Esprit des Lots. 


It is hardly necessary, Montesquieu says, to 
seek the origin of society. Man lives only in soci- 
ety: this is a primitive fact, from which we must 
start, and the reason of which is in the very nature 
of man. Hobbes wrongly asserts that the natural 
state is that of war, and that justice and laws are 
purely matters of agreement. Were it. really so, 
we ought to be in a state of continual terror, and 
‘“to pass by men as by lions.’’ According to Mon- 
tesquieu, on the contrary, no one is gratuitously 
bad, and in every human soul lives a principle of 


, 


natural equity, which personal interest may indeed 
hide, but not smother. This principle, which 
underlies humanity, underlies also the social 
instinct: it makes it possible for states to be 
founded and maintained. We are surrounded with 
‘men stronger than ourselves; these can harm us in 
a thousand different ways. What a relief for us to 
feel that in the hearts of all those men there is an 
inward principle which is our ally and shields us 
from their attacks! 

Montesquieu began the Lettres Persanes with his 
apologue of the Troglodytes. These people were 
so wicked and ferocious that they were ignorant of 
all principles of equity and justice. They refused 
to help one another in need, and they perished, 
victims of their own injustice. Only two families 


MONTESQUIEU. Ger 


survived, for “‘there were two very strange men in 
that country. They were humane, had a sense of 
justice and loved virtue. This virtue consisted in 
being charitable and helpful. A new race issued 
from them, that became prosperous, and defended 
itself victoriously, because it was just and virtuous.”’ 
The apologue is remarkable on more accounts than 
-one. We first see, as early as 1721 the abuse of 
the words ‘“‘virtue’’ and ‘‘beneficence,’’ which was 
to go on increasing as the century progressed, and 
the idyllic picture of a humanity gentle and sensible 
in a state of nature. Then again, Montesquieu 
bases human society on what he called equity, 
which was afterwards to be called altruism. Later, 
indeed, in L’ Esprit des Lots, he asserts that there is 
a rational basis of justice and injustice, antecedent 
to experience, “‘just asvall@the:radii in a circle are 
equal, even before the circle is drawn.’’ Mon- 
tesquieu does not choose between the two theories, 
or rather, he does not distinguish them. He deems 
it sufficient to oppose both of them to Hobbes, 
whom he is anxious to combat. Besides, he does 
not dwell much upon such hypothetical questions, 
and hastens to seek more solid ground. 

In his purely political philosophy Montesquieu 
begins by distinguishing between the nature and 
the principle of each kind of government. ‘‘Its 
nature is what causes it to be such, and its prin- 
ciple is that which causes it to act. The one is its 
individual structure, the other the human passions 
which stir it.’’ This distinction, broadly speaking, 


152 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


corresponds to that between the anatomical and the 
physiological points of view. We may see in it 
Montesquieu’s remarkable anticipation of the help 
he might have received from biology had it been 
sufficiently advanced in his time. Unfortunately, 
it was impossible for him to carry this idea very far 
and to draw from it scientific conclusions. His 
division of the forms of government shows already 
signs of preoccupation of a different kind. If he 
fails to consider the classifications of Plato and 
Aristotle, which he knew very well, and makes a 
distinction between republican, monarchical and 
despotic government, it is that he may not be 
reproached with attacking the existing order of 
things. He therefore says concerning despotism 
many things which he thinks apply to the French 
monarchy; the readers will catch the hints, and 
the official censors can wink at them. He is so 
thoroughly conscious of the artificial character of 
his classification that he almost directly endeavors 
to remedy it by subdividing republican govern- 
ments into democracy and oligarchy. Besides, 
Montesquieu always has concrete examples present 
to his mind, even when he does not quote them. 
Despotism is Persia or Turkey, and occasionally 
also France under Louis XIV. His republic is the 
ancient city, Sparta, Athens or Rome. His mon- 
archy means ordinarily the French monarchy, but 
sometimes the English, and lastly, his oligarchy is 
nearly always Venice. 

By means of a minute and keen observation of 


MONTESQUIEU. 153 


the historical types which Montesquieu takes to 
represent the various “‘forms’’ of government, and 
of the manners which predominate in each of them, 
one can find what he calls their principles. Thus 
virtue is obviously the mainspring of the ancient 
city, if we understand by this word, as the ancients 
did, unlimited devotion to the public cause. Fear 
_is the principle of an absolute government, such as 
that of the Sultan or of the Shah of Persia, whose 
most arbitrary caprices are instantly obeyed without 
any discussion or opposition. And, lastly, honor 
is the mainspring of a monarchy such as the king- 
dom of France, in which everybody is jealously 
guarding the prerogatives and offices of the order to 
which he belongs. 

Even while enunciating these forms and princi- 
ples of government in a tone of gravity which leaves 
no doubt as to his impartiality, Montesquieu does 
not forbid himself some innuendo or satire when 
occasion prompts, and above all, he lets us see 
that he does not give the same weight to all 
these principles. Lowest of all in the scale 
stands despotism. Montesquieu purposely over- 
draws the picture, and one might sometimes 
imagine that he is speaking of Dahomey or Ashantee 
tather, thant of, Turkey orersia:s (Hichest: of “all 
in rank stands the republic. To pass from the 
republican to the monarchical form—i. e., from vir- 
tue to honor as a principle—is deterioration. This 
idea already appears in the apologue of the Troglo- 
dytes. The latter, weary of freedom, wished to 


154 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


have a king. They applied to a venerable old 
man, who answered: ‘‘I see how it is, O Troglo- 
dytes! Your virtue begins to lie heavy on you. 
In your present state, having no ruler, you must 
needs be virtuous, or else you could not exist, or 
you would relapse into the misfortunes of your 
forefathers. But your think the yoke too heavy, 
and you prefer submitting toa prince. You know 
that then you will be able to gratify your ambition, 
and that, provided you avoid falling into 
great crimes, you will have no need of virtue.’’ 
This passage seems to throw light upon many 
others which recur frequently in L’ Esprit des Lois: 
such as that monarchy maintains itself merely by 
the effect of laws, that in it virtue is not necessary, 
and that every one serves the public good while 
thinking to serve his private interests; that ambi- 
tion, which is hurtful in a republic, has good effects 
inva; monarchy, etc.) Monarchismeeis set jover 
against republicanism, as an inferior to a superior 
form; for the latter assumes men to be righteous— 
that is, just, charitable and devout—while monarch- 
ism supposes men to be selfish, but governs their 
mutual relations in such a way that their egotism 
serves the same ends as altruism. In a republic 
the common interest is everything. The word 
‘‘fatherland’’ may be spoken there; and the love 
of it is inseparable from sound morals and disinter- 
estedness. Everyone seeks only the welfare of all. 
No ambition is felt, no riches are coveted; all is 
perfect simplicity and frugality. 


MONTESQUIEU. 155 


But this admirable state has not been seen on 
earth since antiquity, and the ancients themselves 
realized it but rarely, and for brief periods. It has 
become fabulous, like the Troglodytes. Mon- 
tesquieu sees about him monarchies, furnished with 
hereditary nobility, caste-spirit, privileges and 
distinctions among men. Here ambition takes the 

place of patriotism. The state subsists independ- 

ently of that sentiment, of a desire for true glory, 
of self-renunciation, of the sacrifice of one’s nearest 
concerns. . . . Laws supply the place of all these 
dispensable virtues. We here perceive not only the 
excessive reliance upon the fabric of laws, which 
is one of Montesquieu’s errors, but also the sublime 
and touching picture of the civic virtue of the 
ancients, which was destined later to become so 
commonplace. Every one knows how great a place 
was filled in the French Revolution by that romantic 
rather than historical ideal character, by that sort 
of composite figure, in which were blended. the 
features of Regulus, Cincinnatus, Phocion, Epami- 
nondas and other heroes of Plutarch or Livy. 
Rousseau has been severely criticised for having 
extolled this fictitious character; in justice the 
criticism should fall first on Montesquieu. 

However that may be, this republic, the home 
of righteous men, is to Montesquieu a remote ideal. 
Despotism, on the other hand, seems to be con- 
fined to warm countries, among spiritless people, 
depressed by long ages of tyranny. There remains 
to consider the aristocratic or oligarchic republic, 


156 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


and the monarchy. But aristocratic government, 
if it does not presume ‘‘virtue’’ among the people, 
does presume it among the nobility, which is an 
ideal as difficult to realize as that of the republic. 
In fact, Montesquieu judges very severely the oli- 
garchies which he had seen. The Italian republics, 
he writes in his notes of travel, are but puny aristoc- 
racies which exist only on sufferance, and in which 
the nobles, devoid of all feelings of grandeur and 
glory, have no other ambition than to preserve 
their idleness and their prerogatives. The chief 
subject of his political meditations must therefore be 
the monarchy, which, under different laws, in 
France and in England, has raised these two nations 
to a high degree of prosperity and power. 
Monarchy is the state, ‘‘in which one man gov- 
erns, but under fixed and established laws.’’ 
These laws are the very constitution of the state, 
which lives and prospers so long as they are 
respected. They establish in it classes, every one 
of which has its privileges and obligations corre- 
sponding to these privileges. Such government 
attains a state of perfection when the monarch and 
the classes, while pursuing their several objects, 
act nevertheless in concert, without trying to 
exceed their several functions. If the prince seeks 
to make his power absolute, he changes the nature 
of the monarchy; if the nobles deprive him of his 
power, the monarchy tends to become an aristo- 
cratic republic. The essential character of a mon- 
archy is constituted inequality. In a despotic state 


MONTESQUIEU. I5$7 


all men are equal, because everybody is nothing, 
the master alone is everything. Again, in a 
republic, all men are equal, because they all seek 
the public good alone, and have no private ambi- 
tions or privileges. But in monarchies men are 
necessarily unequal, from the king down to the 
lowest citizen, on account of their birth and of the 
_ class to which they belong. The power of the king 
meets a barrier in the party spirit of each class; 
and a nobleman who will unhesitatingly sacrifice his 
life to his king will refuse to sacrifice his honor. 
This is an ideal of moderate government which 
Montesquieu seems to prefer to all others when he 
thinks of France, and which France did indeed 
enjoy at the time when ‘Gothic government’’ 
reached its perfection—i. e., the time of St. Louis. 
This explains the hatred he evinces in the Lettres 
epanese toward? Richelictumana) louis) XuViwkthe 
expression of which reappears in L’Lsprit des Lots. 
Richelieu made it his aim to reduce the power of 
the nobility, to take from them their privileges and 
their function in the state, and to make the king’s 
power absolute. Louis XIV completed the work 
of Richelieu, and did all in his power to annihilate 
Parliament and to reduce this ‘‘depository of laws’’ 
to a purely administrative and judicial office. Both 
of them endeavored to destroy all ‘‘intermediate, 
surbordinate and dependent powers.’’ But if these 
powers disappear, there is an end of constitution, 
“fundamental laws,” and ‘‘mediate channels through 
which power may be applied.’’ There is no longer 


158 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


any barrier standing against the capricious will of 
the one man: we havea despot. ‘‘No nobility, 
no monarchy,’’ is to Montesquieu a maxim with 
the force and effect of an axiom. Therefore abol- 
ishing the right of landed proprietors to administer 
justice, wiping out the last traces of the feudal sys- 
tem, abolishing the prerogatives of the nobility, of 
the clergy, of parliament (which had been the 
unchanging polity of the French kings for a cen- 
tury) is equivalent to ‘‘changing the constitution 
and transforming the monarchy into a despotism.’’ 
And Montesquieu asks whether this is a wise thing 
to do. 

The danger is all the greater because the trans- 
formation can be effected without a sudden revolu- 
tion, and by an imperceptible transition, since in 
both governments, according to Montesquieu’s own 
expression (which Voltaire did not fail to empha- 
size) ‘‘the power is the same.’’ But in a mon- 
archy the more mighty a king is made by the 
prestige of his crown, the more carefully should he 
abstain from abusing his power, and respect the 
rights of the classes established by the “‘funda- 
mental’’ laws: for he is no less concerned in their 
preservation than they are in his. The picture of 
despotism drawn by Montesquieu is a sort of bug- 
bear, a supreme and solemn warning to the French 
people and the French king. ‘‘Beware! this is 
what you are tending to! Do not wantonly 
destroy with your own hands the very conditions of 
existence of monarchy in France!’’ Montesquieu 


MONTESQUIEU. 159 


is therefore, from his very liberalism, deliberately 
conservative. It is from fear of despotism to come 
and hatred of despotism already existing that he 
undertakes the defense of political inequality, for 
he sees in it the surest guaranty of the liberty to 
which the French have been accustomed. 

Of course, there are other forms of liberty, for 
instance, that of the Spartans and Romans, but 
this was adapted only to the city of antiquity; and 
that of England, but this is inseparable from the 
spirit and character of the English race. Now Mon- 
tesquieu does not propose to naturalize foreign 
institutions in France, an extremely delicate and 
perhaps impossible undertaking. The form of gov- 
ernment in question is one that the French have 
actually had, and still have nominally; it would be 
sufficient, he thinks, that its spirit should be well 
understood, and that there should be an earnest 
endeavor to restore it. The reformation of the 
French monarchy, in his mind, would consist in 
bringing it back to the purity of its type, an ambi- 
tion apparently more modest and in fact more 
impracticable than the demand for even a radical 
transformation of existing institutions. Had soci- 
ology existed in the days of Montesquieu, it would 
have shown him that the French monarchy of the 
sixteenth century was an organic unity of morals, 
beliefs, traditions—in short, of outward and inward 
conditions which had changed irrevocably, and that 
the monarchy, along with these conditions, now 
belonged to the past. 


160 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


The seventh chapter of the eleventh book of 
LEsprit des Lots, which treats of the English con- 
stitution, is perhaps the part which has been most 
read, and the influence of which has been most 
lasting. The object of this constitution, he main- 
tains, is liberty. The whole array of laws, and the 
famous separation of the three functions: executive, 
legislative and judicial, all tend to preserve the 
liberty of the citizens. Weneed not examine here 
whether Montesquieu gave an accurate description 
of the English constitution in his time, and 
whether he had closely observed its structure and 
working, and in what measure he was inspired by 
Algernon Smith or by Locke. Besides, he seems 
to have tried above all to imitate what he greatly 
admired in the Germama of Tacitus. He wanted 
not so much to give a scrupulously faithful picture 
of the English constitution as to offer his readers, 
as a lofty lesson in politics, the example of a free 
people under a monarchical government. It is the 
counterpart of his picture of despotism. In both 
cases the details are slightly exaggerated in order 
to attain the end which the author had in view; 
and just as despotism becomes a bugbear, the Eng- 
lish constitution becomes an ideal. It is not alto- 
gether his fault if the lesson, being misinterpreted, 
called forth clumsy and unfortunate attempts at 
imitation. We see, in his Notes on England, that 
he judged the English society of his time severely, 
and thought it threatened with imminent degenera- 
tion. He nevertheless discerned and appreciated 


MONTESQUIEU. IOI 


the essential features of the English character, and 
I question whether, after all, the picture he drew 
of it (Book 19, chapter xxi of L’Esprit des Lots,) is 
not still among the best—and, at any rate, more 
accurate than that of Taine. 


Among the ‘‘English things’’ for which Mon- 
tesquieu roused a desire on the Continent we must 
reckon first judicial organization, especially penal 
judicature. Montesquieu showed that in England 
the judicial power, ‘‘so awful among men,’’ be- 
comes, so to speak, invisible and nugatory, and is 
never an instrument of arbitrary oppression in the 
hands of the executive power. Every person 
accused of crime is judged by his peers, and has 
the right to challenge his judges. Nobody can be 
imprisoned without being examined at once, and, 
ifnexpedient, réleasedwonmballiiy(Torture is (never 
employed. In one word, man is free. It was not 
by any means the same in France, where still 
existed a shameful inconsistency between the com- 
paratively mild manners and the arbitrary and bar- 
barous criminal procedure. Chancellor d’Aguesseau 
still thought torture indispensable. Every one knows 
with what spirited indignation Montesquieu speaks 
Oiitce) ly hear, | thevvoice of; nature |) cryiney out 
against me.’’ And nobody did more than he in 
behalf of the introduction of trial by jury. 

Penalties need reformation quite as much as does 
procedure, for “‘cruelty in penalties does not cause 
the laws to be better obeyed. In countries where 


162 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


punishments are moderate, they are dreaded as 
much as in those where they are tyrannical and 
terrible. The imagination adapts itself to the cus- 
toms of the ‘country’yone™ lives ain." A’ “weeks 
imprisonment, or asmall fine, or the despair brought 
on by the disgrace of being convicted, produce as 
much effect upon a European as the most cruel 
punishment does upon an Asiatic.’’ Cruel penal- 
ties even thwart their own aim. If you punish 
mere theft as severely as theft combined with man- 
slaughter, murder will multiply: with equal risk 
the thief finds it to his advantage to put witnesses 
out of the way. Therefore, public interest, nature 
and the liberty of the citizens agree in demanding 
‘‘that arbitrariness should cease, that the penalty 
should not originate in the caprice of the legislator, 
but in the nature of the case; in short, that crim- 
inal laws should derive each penalty from the par- 
ticular nature of the offence.’’ A suggestive 
maxim, the happy consequences of which have not 
yet all been drawn by criminal law, even in our own 
time, and which, if fully understood, would require 
us to take into account not only the particular 
nature of the transgression, but also that of the 


’ 


transgressor. 

But can it also be applied to offences against 
religion? Without the least doubt. Among these 
crimes, those which consist in disturbing public 
worship are really offences against the peace and 
safety of the citizens, and should be punished as 
such. Real offences against religion are direct 


MONTESQUIEU. 163 


attacks made upon it; and the only punishment 
suited to the nature of the case (according to the 
above principle) is exclusion from the privileges of 
religion, or excommunication. Where there is no 
action witnessed by the public, there is no cause 
for criminal process; it is a matter between the 
individual and God. The evil here has sprung 
- from the idea that we must avenge divinity. Now 
we should pay honor to divinity, but never avenge 
it, otherwise there would be no end of tortures. In 
this spirit Montesquieu wrote his “‘Most humble 
remonstrances to the Spanish and Portuguese 
Inquisitors.’’ 
Montesquieu’s plea for toleration, to say noth- 
ing of the force of the arguments and of the 
eloquence of the writer, attracted public attention 
all the more strongly as Montesquieu was not sus- 
pected of any anti-religious sentiment. It is true, 
there was biting satire in the Lettres Persanes against 
monks and worldly abbés. But in L’Esprit des Lots 
all religious subjects, as a rule, are treated with 
gravity and moderation. Montesquieu speaks as a 
philosopher and a statesman, who has learned from 
the philosophy of history the part played by reli- 
gion in the evolution of mankind. He observes 
that he must look at things from the statesman’s 
point of view, which does not coincide with that of 
the theologian, and that public policy recommends 
toleration in the well-contrived interest of the state. 
Whatever his inmost feelings may be as regards 
Christianity in particular, his public attitude is irre- 


164 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


proachably respectful. In this point, as in many 
others, his prudence was perfect. Being often as 
bold as most of the ‘‘philosophers’’ of the eight- 
eenth century, having like them, and before them, 
touched upon the most burning and forbidden 
questions, he nevertheless preserved a reputation 
for wisdom and moderation. Conservatives have 
always been wont to contrast him with Rousseau; 
and yet modern socialists might also claim him as 
one of their precursors. Did he not write that ‘“‘the 
state owes to every citizen a sure living, food, 
suitable clothes and a method of life not inconsist- 
ent with health?’’ 

We cannot here enter into the details of Mon- 
tesquieu’s historical, political and judicial views, 
but it is impossible to pass over in silence his the- 
ory of public international law, which was new and 
significant of his time. This branch of law, he had 
said in the Lettres Persanes, such as it now is, is a 
science that teaches princes how far they can vio- 
late justice without injuring their own interests. 
It is iniquity reduced to a system. But there are 
not two kinds of justice, and the relations between 
nations should be regulated by the same laws in 
principle as the relations between private persons. 
‘‘Public international law is the civil law of the 
world.’ «JAti the end: ofs the (century, ‘Kantiinanse 
celebrated pamphlet, ‘‘ Zum ewigen Frieden,’’ declares 
precisely the same principles, adding that he con- 
ceives indeed the possibility of submitting interna- 
tional politics to the moral law, but not of regulating 


MONTESQUIEU. 165 


morals by politics. These theories are connected 
with a system of ideas current at that time, accord- 
ing to which the various nations were looked upon 
as members of one family. “Should I know,”’’ 
says Montesquieu,’ “‘of something which was useful 
to my country but prejudicial to mankind, I should 
regard the divulging of it as nothing less than a 
wenimetw 

At the foundation of this philosophical cosmo- 
politanism, if we lay aside the sentimental and 
optimistic element in it, we may discern two im- 
portant ideas which we shall meet more than once 
inuthescourse” of \thetciahtcenth vcentury //7i\One 
represents humanity as being always and every- 
where the same, and consequently entitled to a 
likerespect’: in’ every mhumanibeing.: They other 
makes universality a characteristic of truth. The 
certitude of mathematical truths comes from their 
being obvious to all minds; in a like way, what is 
just in politics must satisfy every human conscience, 
independently of all interests, even those of our 
country. French philosophy and literature were 
the vehicles of these ideas throughout the world; 
and wherever the ascendancy of French writers and 
philosophers decreased, this cosmopolitanism suf- 
fered a corresponding decadence. 


In less than two years L’F-spritdes Lots ran 
through twenty-two editions. It was immediately 
translated into the chief European languages. 
Montesquieu’s death, in 1755, was a public grief, 


166 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


not only for France, but for all thinkers abroad. 
And yet it is a fact that L’Asprit des Lots, though 
much admired, was never popular even in 
France. This disfavor does not include either the 
Lettres Persanes, which still amuse and interest in 
our day, or the Constdérations sur les Causes de la 
Grandeur et de la Décadence des Romains, which have 
maintained a place among French literary classics. 
There must, therefore, be in L’ Esprit des Lots, not- 
withstanding the beauties of the work, something 
peculiar which repels, or at least fails to attract, the 
reader iltsurely ‘cannot be\thetsubject, forthe 
French public in general is fond of political and socio- 
logical topics. It seems rather to be the fluctuant 
and indecisive method, neither frankly abstract nor 
positively historical. French minds are fond of 
“‘trenchant styles of writing.’’ They may also 
have been puzzled by the way in which the books 
and chapters are broken up and scattered. They 
are accustomed to books composed in a simpler and 
more lucid way. 

Let us make haste, and say that the influence of 
a work of this kind is to be measured not by the 
number but by the quality of its readers. The 
influence of L'Esprit des Lots was wonderfully great. 
Governing statesmen, as a rule, take little notice of 
political philosophers, whom they look upon as 
dreamers, lacking in common sense and ignorant of 
practical politics; and they are little disposed to 
take into account any unsolicited advice. Mon- 
tesquieu had the rare good fortune to become an 


MONTESQUIEU. 167 


authority in their eyes, and to be often quoted by 
them. Many of his views on political liberty, on 
constitutional monarchy, on the distribution of 
powers, on penal procedure, on religious toleration, 
etc., have found their way into the laws of several 
European countries. His prestige did not suffer 
as much as that of the other philosophers of the 
‘eighteenth century from the reaction which set in 
towards the beginning of the nineteenth. Many 
sound minds even thought they found in him the 
happy medium which they were seeking between the 
Revolution and the equally untenable counter- 
revolution. He became the patron saint of liberal 
doctrinaries. 

From a scientific point of view, he really intro- 
duced the philosophy of government which was to 
have such a great development in France. True, 
he stands distinctly apart from the ‘‘philosophers’”’ 
who were to succeed him. He does not, like 
nearly all of them, despise everything between the 
Roman period and the sixteenth century. He does 
not look upon the Middle Ages as a disgrace to 
humanity. On the contrary, he speaks of the feudal 
laws with esteem, and even with a warmth which 
was rare in him. He would have liked to study 
this ‘‘splendid subject,’’ and the word ‘‘Gothic,’’ 
which was soon to become a synonym of all that 
was rude and barbarous, is used by Montesquieu to 
designate the government he most praises. His 
education as jurist and his knowledge as historian 
guard him here against rash and unjust assertions. 


168 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Others were bold where he was prudent, extrava- 
gant where he was moderate. They attempted to 
introduce into France the morals and principles of 
the ancient republics. They attacked not simply 
intolerance, but religion itself. In a word, they 
did all that Montesquieu abstained from doing, and 
which he would perhaps have criticised most 
severely. 

Nevertheless, it was he that opened the way for 
them. After him, strengthened by his example 
and by his authority, they were able without much 
difficulty to establish themselves in the domain of 
political and social sciences. The ‘‘philosophers”’ 
understood this, and in spite of all differences of 
ideas and tone, they always claimed him as one 
of themselves. 


CHAPTER VI. 


VOLTAIRE. 


WE must not turn to Voltaire for an original con- 
ception of the universe, which connects the whole 
of reality with a first principle, or for a constant 
concern for the metaphysical problems upon which 
both science and action depend. It is a_ well- 
known fact that Voltaire was not akin to such men 
as Plato, Descartes and Spinoza. These lived only 
to seek disinterestedly after truth. If they influ- 
enced the world, it was from afar, and through a 
slow diffusion of their principles—a result all the 
deeper and more durable coming as it did from a 
greater height. Voltaire wished for immediate 
effects. He was not above the world; he was, on 
the contrary, what the Germans call a Weltkind. 
He loved wealth, success, honors; he was eager 
for literary fame. He lived in the midst of con- 
troversy, and was never weary of it. He was full 
of craft and cunning, and curious regarding the 
most trifling as well as the most important objects. 

In spite of this, his contemporaries, and the 
greatest among them—Kant, for instance, did not 
think they ought to deny Voltaire the name of phil- 
osopher. Let us not be more exacting than they. 
Let us acknowledge, as they did, that the philos- 

169 


170 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


ophy of Voltaire, though not strictly reduced toa 
system, is nevertheless diffused through his work, 
and is the very soul of it. It is expressed in his 
novels, in his historical works, and even in his 
tragedies, as well as in his essays and in the philo- 
sophical dictionary. It is, indeed, characterized 
rather by wide range than by depth. Voltaire was 
addressing the public at large. He preaches and 
rails indefatigably; his satires are sermons, and his 
sermons satires. He makes use in a thousand dif- 
ferent shapes of the process familiar to all great 
journalists, of whom he was the first—namely, repe- 
tition. He is thus led to an extreme simplification 
of his philosophy, and reduces it to a small number 
of propositions, which require no effort to be under- 
stood. But just as we make an effort in order to 
grasp clearly the meaning of some abstruse meta- 
physician in spite of his obscurity, so should we 
endeavor to bring out Voltaire’s philosophical 
thought in spite of the excessive zeal for clearness 
by which it is often distorted. 

Is this philosophy, as has been claimed, an 
engine of war against the Church and the Roman 
Catholic dogmas? No doubt it is that, but not 
that alone. It aims not only to destroy, but also 
to build up. As Voltaire was much better fit for 
the former task than for the latter, he was infinitely 
more successful init. But this is no reason either 
for suspecting his sincerity when he seeks to be 
constructive, or for dismissing without a word an 
effort the effect of which has not yet disappeared. 


VOLTAIRE. 171 


Voltaire’s religious philosophy, for instance, is 
even in our days that of many people who do not 
acknowledge, or sometimes even suspect, that it 
is SO. 

The philosophy of Voltaire varied, but less than 
might have been expected in the course of so long 
a life from such a mobile nature as his, so keenly 
alive to every new prompting of the spirit of the 
age. Thus, in his 7ratwé de Métaphysique (1734), he 
admits free-will, and later on, in the Philosophe 
ignorant (1766), he confesses that Collins had con- 
verted him to determinism. He changed his opin- 
ion also on the question of the eternity of the 
world. His semi-pessimism became more bitter as 
he grew older. But on the main points of his doc- 
trine, on God, the soul, morals, the essential prin- 
ciple of religion, Voltaire was always consistent with 
himself. He saw most of the Encyclopzdists fol- 
low after Diderot and go even much farther; in 
spite of their urgent entreaties, and at the risk of 
seeming a conservative and almost a reactionist, he 
refused to swerve from his theories. Ina man so 
careful of his popularity as Voltaire was, this is a 
sure proof of his attachment to a body, if not a 
system, of philosophical ideas. 


Introduced when still a mere youth to the soci- 
ety of the Zemple, Voltaire was initiated into the 
philosophy of the ‘‘libertines,’’ and was thus in 
direct connection with the anti-religious move- 
ment in the seventeenth century. He was well 


172 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


acquainted with Fontenelle and Bayle, not quite so 
well with Malebranche, and but slightly with Des- 
cartes, though he often mentions him. He seems 
to see in Descartes only the author of the hy- 
pothesis of vortices and plenum; one wonders 
whether he ever read the Discours de la Méthode and 
the Méditations. He certainly did not enter deeply 
into them. It was in England that Voltaire be- 
came fond of philosophy. Locke and Newton were 
his masters in the art of thinking. On his return 
to France, full of what he had learned, he under- 
took the introduction of Newton’s physics and 
Locke’s empiricism. The zeal and talent of sucha 
disciple contributed in no small degree to make 
them known and admired. It is true, he did not 
present to his readers the entire works of either 
Locke or Newton; he rather ‘‘adapted’’ them, 
according to his own taste and to the supposed taste 
of the public. 

The success was considerable, and one cannot 
tell whether the Lettres Anglaises did more for the 
European fame of Locke and Newton, or for the 
reputation of him who expounded their doctrines so 
skillfully. 


Voltaire admires everything, or nearly every- 
thing, in Locke. His book, he says, is a master- 
piece of patience and wisdom; but what pleases 
him perhaps above everything else is Locke’s con- 
ception of philosophy, and the course he pursued. 
Locke is an unassuming man, a sage, who never 


VOLTAIRE. 173 


pretends to know that of which he is ignorant, and 
does not grapple with problems beyond his capa- 
city; when he meets with such problems he avoids 
them. Such philosophical prudence, according to 
Voltaire, marks a turning-point in the history of 
human thought. He places on one side all philos- 
ophers whose works are metaphysical inventions, 
which, though ingenious, we do not feel to be expres- 
sive of reality; and on the other, the ‘‘sage,’’ Locke, 
cautiously going forward so long as he is guided 
by experience, and stopping as soon as his guide 
abandons him. ‘‘From Plato down to him, there 
has been nothing,’’—a sweeping assertion which 
the reader is not to take literally. We must make 
due allowance for literary exaggeration, and for 
the desire of striking the attention, and understand 
that ‘‘all philosophers since Plato have written the 
romance of the soul, and that Locke was the first 
to write its history.’’ Locke, in short, discovered 
the true philosophical method. Voltaire even goes 
so far as to say that there never was a more accu- 
rate logician, and that Locke had ‘‘a geometrician’s 
mind,’’—which is a rather surprising statement. 
Being in possession of the true method, Locke 
addressed himself to the only problems which are 
susceptible of being solved. Philosophy in his 
hands ceased to be fantastic and arbitrary, and 
became positive and certain. He contented himself 
with unfolding the operations of the soul, i. e., 
following them in their order and progress. Thus 
‘‘his book contains nothing but truths, and what 


174 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


makes the work perfect is that all these truths are 
clear.”’ 

It would be difficult to carry the hyperbole of 
praise farther, and yet, strange to say, in a book 
so full of truths Voltaire seems to have seen only 
a few, to which he constantly recurs. Of the rich 
and varied contents of Locke’s Assay, he retained 
but a small number of propositions which he 
accepted without question. Voltaire himself has 
more than once given a summary of what he owed 
to Locke, which in fact is limited to empiricism and 
the refutation of innate ideas. But of the analysis 
of complex ideas, the theory of language, the study 
of the idea of power, the general definition of ideas, 
and so many other interesting points in Locke, we 
observe no trace in Voltaire. 

On the other hand, an hypothesis which holds 
but a small place in Locke’s Essay assumed a very 
great importance in Voltaire’s eyes. Locke said: 
‘““We shall perhaps never be able to know whether 
a purely material being thinks or not.’’ According 
to Voltaire, nothing so sensible has ever been or 
will ever be said about the nature of the soul. 
Even the dubious form in which Locke expresses 
his thought is the only suitable one. Ona meta- 
physical question of this kind a judicious man will 
always keep to ““perhaps. 
cessful attempts have been required to bring philos- 
ophers to such necessary modesty! From Plato 
down to Descartes and Leibniz, all have assumed 
to know what the essence of the soul is, and they 


ped 


But how many unsuc- 


VOLTAIRE. 175 


all have plunged into inextricable difficulties. Car- 
tesians, for instance, who made of the soul a thing, 
the whole nature of which is to think, were very 
much embarrassed when they came to animals. 
What a pity and what a poor conception it was to 
say that animals are machines without any knowl- 
edge or feeling! If they are mere machines, you 
_ certainly are to them only what a chronometer is 
to a kitchen clock. Conversely, if you have the 
honor of possessing a spiritual soul, animals also 
have one. Choose, if you dare, between a machine 
man and the immortal soul of a flea or a grub. 
Cartesians can never get out of this dilemma in 
which Bayle had already confined them. 

Let us rather trust to experience, the only sure 
guide; let us stop where it stops. It teaches us 
that we exist, feel and think. But if we try to 
take a step farther, we fall into an abyss of darkness. 
We have no organ through which we can know 
what the soul is. Voltaire would fain say, as 
Hume does, that we have no idea of anything of 
which we have not an impression. Now, there is 
no impression which teaches us what the soul is. 
It is as completely absent in us as are the senses 
possessed by the man from Sirius mentioned in 
Micromégas. We are reduced to conjectures neces- 
sarily uncertain. What, then, must we do? What 
Locke and Newton did. We must learn to doubt. 
However, Voltaire does not content himself with 
this prudent reserve. Without assuming to know 
the substance of the soul, since we have no means 


176 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


of gaining this knowledge, we may make conjec- 
tures, provided we do not mistake our hypotheses 
for certain facts. Now, the one which Locke so 
timidly put forward pleased Voltaire very much. 
What if God in His infinite might had endowed 
matter with the power to think? We have no right 
to maintain that it isso; but neither has any one 
the right to maintain that it is not. We know on 
the one hand that God is all-powerful, and on the 
other hand we do not know what matter is in 
itself; we know some of its qualities or properties, 
but not its substance: therefore what right have I 
to maintain that God has not granted to organized 
substance power to feel or think? Is it fit for such 
a limited and ignorant being as I am to determine 
of my own authority what God may or may not 
have done? ‘To call this hypothesis absurd and 
contradictory is impertinent dogmatism; it is not 
only to set bounds to the divine Power, but also to 
presume to know the essence of matter and soul, 
which nobody has ever known or ever will know. 
If}itherefore, during’) all: his elife > Voltaire 
remained attached to this hypothesis of Locke, it 
was not at all from a secret tendency to material- 
ism; on the contrary, it was because it permitted 
him to reject at once and on the same ground 
materialism and spiritualism. The former affirms 
more than it knows; for how can it say that every- 
thing is matter while it does not know what the 
essence of matter is? But ordinary spiritualism is 
no less shocking. In order to explain these phe- 


VOLTAIRE. 177 


nomena that have no parallel in the material 
world—thoughts, feelings, memory, etc.—it imag- 
ines a special principle, spiritual, distinct from the 
body and situated within it, which it calls the soul. 
But is it not obvious that ‘ 
word, as well as ‘‘motion’’? What is concrete is 
thessthoushts, feelinss Vanda volitions) Al fine 
-advantage it is to have given substance to an 
abstraction, and to say that it is the soul which 
thinks, feels, wills, etc.! 

Thus Voltaire does not represent thought as an 
attribute which God can at will give to matter or 


2ouly isian abstract 


take away from it, as we can at our pleasure mag- 
Netizevor demagnetize! anmirony bar. i) hreed i from 
that puerile form, his reflections on the soul deserve 
some attention. He meant to imply that in our 
ignorance of what is at the bottom of things, the 
dualism of the soul and the body is an unproved 
assertion; ‘‘that the supposition of a distinct soul 
was not a solution, but simply another statement of 
the problem’ 
be contented with mere words. ‘‘A tulip ora rose,’’ 
he says, “‘is produced by an incomprehensible 
mechanism, and yet we suppose no soul in them. 
Nor do we suppose any in insects, which live and 
die. In animals we admit instinct, but we do not 
at all know what it is. And when we suppose a 


> 


; and lastly, that to accept it was to 


soul in man, do we understand ourselves any bet- 
ter?’ In modern language this means that we can- 
not account for the functions of the soul till we see 
their connection with organic functions. Voltaire 


178 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


then has here a twofold merit: he has clearly seen 
that the metaphysical study of the soul had been 
verbal and sterile; and he has perceived, though 
dimly, that a positive science of the soul might per- 
haps become possible some day when biology was 
more advanced. 


When Voltaire wished to publish his Z/éments de 
la Philosophie de Newton, he was denied a copyright 
because he combated Descartes. Cartesianism, 
once persecuted, was now officially patronized. It 
was hard for novelties to effect an entrance into the 
Academy of Sciences. After Maupertuis Voltaire 
was the first declared Newtonian in France. His 
account of Newton’s system is remarkably clear and 
sufficiently exact. He states in it, together with 
the law of universal gravitation, Newton’s chief 
discoveries in optics. But at the same time he 
adds to it a part entitled Metaphysics, which, being 
placed first, seems to command all the rest, and is 
much more Voltaire’s metaphysics than Newton's. 

And indeed, as the saying goes, Voltaire killed 
two birds with one stone: he made Newton known, 
and at the same time turned him to good account 
for his own cause. He admired the genius who 
discovered the law of universal gravitation and 
decomposed light; but he also found in him a valu- 
able patron for the natural religion which he 
preached. With Newton’s name he would silence 
all adversaries, whoever they might be, atheists or 
Catholics. He would answer them all: “I ama 


VOLTAIRE. 179 


religious man, as the great Newton was.’’ He 
relates, in the Lettres Anglaises, that the accounts he 
heard in London of Newton’s piety moved him 
deeply. He then understood that, to use Bacon’s 
phrase, ‘‘a little science inclineth man’s mind to 
atheism, but depth in philosophy bringeth men’s 
minds about to religion.’’ With Newton the ‘‘phys- 
icist becomes the herald of Providence; a catechist 
reveals God to children, and a Newton demonstrates 
Him to sages.’’ The work of the universe, when 
better known, proves the existence of One who 
wrought it, and so many unchanging laws prove 
that of a law-giver. ‘‘Wholesome philosophy,’’ 
therefore, destroyed atheism, which ‘‘obscure 
theology’’ supplied with weapons. 

Voltaire loves to dwell on the affinity between 
Newton's views and natural religion. According to 
Newton, he says, (and also according to reason), 
there is such a thing as a vacuum. Matter there- 
fore does not exist of necessity. It must, then, 
have received existence from a free cause. There- 
fore there is a God. So that a consistent Newton- 
ian cannot help being a deist (dest and ¢heist have 
the same meaning to Voltaire). And that, indeed, 
they all are. One cannot say the same of Carte- 
sians. Their system produced that of Spinoza; and 
many other Cartesians were led to admit no other 
God than the immensity of things; in this they 
were consistent, since Descartes supposes a plenum, 
and thinks the world infinite, and most probably also 
eternal. This did not prevent the French authori- 


180 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


ties from rejecting, in the name of Cartesianism, the 
new science of physics, which, on the other hand, 
leads to a knowledge of the true God! 

The strongest, or at least the most specious, of 
the objections which the Cartesians for a long time 
raised against Newton often occurs in Fontenelle. 
It consists in the contention that attraction is an 
occult quality, and that physics by accepting it 
would retrograde toward the scholasticism of the 
Middle Ages. To which Voltaire pertinently 
answered: What do you understand by an occult 
quality? Do you mean that the essence of the 
force manifested in the phenomena of gravitation 
and gravity is unknown to us? I confess it is. 
But then, not only these, but also life, thought, 
heat, capillarity and all things are occult qualities; 
we do not know the essence of anything. Do you 
mean that Newton simply revived a word which 
explains nothing? You then forget the beautiful 
demonstration he gave of his laws. Attraction is 
but a name: the demonstrations are the essential 
parts of his theory. 


After having contributed more than any other 
man to spread in France the discoveries of Newton, 
Voltaire ceased to concern himself much with 
astronomy and physics. But he never ceased to 
seek in Newton’s physics a help for his demon- 
stration of the existence of God. 

In Voltaire’s philosophy the ontological proof 
has disappeared, since he does not admit innate 


VOLTAIRE. ISI 


ideas. There remain, therefore, the cosmological 
proof and the proof by means of final causes. For 
the former, it is precisely Newton’s physics on 
which he relies for support. Newton in fact says: 
‘“There is a Being who has necessarily been self- 
existent from all eternity, and who is the origin of 
all other beings. This Being is infinite in duration, 
immensity and power; for what can limit Him?’’ 
But may not the material world be that very Being? 
You might suppose so, answers Voltaire, should 
you, as the Cartesians do, admit the plenum and 
the infinity and eternity of the world. Nothing is 
so easy as to pass from this to materialism—that 
is, to a doctrine which makes matter the eternal 
substance, and knows no other God. (Thus, to 
Voltaire the words ‘‘materialist’’ and ‘‘atheist’’ are 
almost alwayssynonymous.) But the Newtonians, 
from the very fact of their admitting a vacuum, 
admit that matter has had a beginning, that motion 
needs a first cause, in short, a creating God. Still, 
when Voltaire later on came to think that the uni- 
verse must be eternal, as the very thought of God 
who caused it to exist, this argument lost some of 
its force, or at least ought to have been restated in 
a different form. If Voltaire did not attend to it, it 
was probably because he was fully satisfied with 
another proof, concerning which he never changed 
his mind—i. e., the proof based on final causes. 
No doubt he was the first to laugh at the abuse 
made of the argument from design. ‘‘ Noses were 
made to wear spectacles; therefore we have spec- 


182 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


tacles. Legs were obviously instituted that they 
might be clad, and so we have knee-breeches; 
stones, that they might be cut; swine, that they 
might be eaten, and so on.’’ But never did Vol- 
taire find anything ridiculous in the thought that 
the whole of nature bears witness to Him who cre- 
ated it. ‘‘When I observe the order, the prodigious 
contrivances, the mechanical and geometrical laws 
which reign over the universe, the innumerable 
means and ends of all things, I am overcome with 
admiration and awe. Nothing can shake my faith 
in this axiom: ‘Every piece of work implies a work- 
man.’ ’’ This workman we have already met with: 
it is Fontenelle’s ‘‘watchmaker.’’ Voltaire uses 
almost exactly the same expressions as Fontenelle: 
‘“When we behold a fine machine, we say that there 
is a good machinist, and that he has an excellent 
understanding. The world is assuredly an admir- 
able machine; therefore there is in the world an 
admirable intelligence, wherever it may be. This 
argument is old, and is none the worse for that.’’ 

Voltaire thinks to give this argument a deeper 
basis by adding that ‘‘nature is art,’’ which means 
that there is properly speaking no nature, since all 
existing things are the work of some great unknown 
Being who is both very powerful and very industri- 
ous. He thus carries to its utmost limits the clear 
notion of finality, which is borrowed directly from 
the analogy between the order in the universe and 
the productions of human art. But of what value 
is this analogy? German philosophy, on the con- 


VOLTAIRE. 183 


trary, likes to show that the idea of finality is an 
obscure one, because the way in which nature 
engenders and animates beings resembles in no wise 
the industry of man. Man makes use of materials 
and springs, and puts together pieces of various 
origins; he works from the outside, whereas nature 
works from the inside. Instead of explaining 
‘nature by means of art, we ought rather to inter- 
pret art by nature; for if we do not understand 
the organizing and restoring power of nature, neither 
can we explain the creating genius of the poet or 
the artist; the finality of nature is not clear, as 
Voltaire thought it to be: it is mysterious. We 
cannot help supposing it to exist, says Kant; but 
neither can we understand what it is. 

Voltaire was not conscious of these difficulties. 
His proof seemed to him flawless, and he steadily 
maintained to the last the existence of God, even 
against his friends. This is not only because, as 
we shall see later, God is needed for social ethics. 
When Voltaire weighs the reasons for or against 
atheism and theism from a purely theoretical point 
of view, he thinks the latter preferable to the 
former. ‘‘In the opinion that there is a God we 
meet with difficulties, but in the contrary opinion 
For instance, to come back 
to Newton, who plays so large a part in Voltaire’s 
natural theology, the atheist, as we have said, is a 
materialist: he acknowledges the existence of infi- 
nite matter, of a plenum; he therefore stands in 
contradiction with Newton. Now, Newton cer- 


9 


there are absurdities.’ 


184 MODERN PHILOSOPHY “IN| FRANCE. 


tainly has spoken the truth; atheism is therefore 
untenable. Voltaire’s reasoning is perhaps over- 
simplified, on account of his constant endeavor to 
be clearly understood even by the most careless 
reader. But the leading idea is an interesting 
one: to give up such of our metaphysical ideas as 
are incompatible with well-grounded scientific 
truths. This is precisely what we do in the pres- 
ent century. 

The existence of God being once settled, if we 
try to determine His attributes, innumerable diff- 
culties arise, so great that Voltaire assumes the 
position which was to be defended later by Demea, 
in Hume’s Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, 
and which is, properly speaking, that of the deist. 
‘‘The existence of God is proved to me, but His 
attributes and His essence I think I am proved 
to be unfit to understand.’’ Philosophy does indeed 
show us that there is a God, but has no power to 
teach us what He is, what He does, and wherefore 
He does so or so; He alone can know. Let us, 
therefore, abstain from attributing our own quali- 
ties to God and making Him in our own image. 
Neither human justice, nor human kindness, nor 
human wisdom can be His. It is useless to stretch 
these ad infinitum, they will never be aught but 
human qualities whose boundaries have been 
extended. Thus, Clarke was wrong in attributing 
intelligence to God because He created intelligent 
beings. God may have created spirit and matter 
without Himself being either matter or spirit. 


VOLTAIRE. 185 


We have here a good example of the application 
of the prudent method so strongly recommended 
by Voltaire to philosophers; but Voltaire himself 
does not always adhere to it. In another place, in 
fact, he congratulates Newton upon having said 
that the knowledge of God would be sterile but for 
the knowledge of His relation to the world; and he 
himself writes, in his Hlomélie sur [ Athétsme: ‘I 
am told that the justice of God is not the same as 
ours. It were just as well to tell me that 2+2=4 
is not the same to God as it is to me.’’ Hecan 
make nothing of a God who is not a righteous God. 

But if God is just, how can there be evil, and so 
much of it, in the world?—a formidable objection, 
which is the strong point of atheists and puzzled 
Voltaire very sorely. Between Bayle and Leibniz, 
he obviously inclines toward Bayle. Candide, his 
masterpiece, was born. out of his exasperation 
against an optimism that was blind and deaf to the 
wrongs, pains and evils which abound in the uni- 
verse. But on the other hand, Voltaire feels the 
Needvor a belief in theyusticerot’God? \Welare not 
a little surprised to see him take up again in detail 
most of the answers made by Leibniz to Bayle. 
He insists that Providence does not act through 
private volitions, but according to general laws. 
He endeavors to prove that evil was inevitable, and 
that there is as little of it as possible. ‘‘There cer- 
tainly are things which the supreme Intelligence 
cannot prevent. Evil is one of them. I had rather 
worship a limited than a wicked God. I cannot 


186 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


possibly offend Him when I say: Thou hast done 
all that a powerful, kind and wise being could do. 
It is not Thy fault if Thy works cannot be as good 
and perfect as Thou art.’’ In one word, whereas 
Leibniz justifies God, Voltaire excuses Him. 
Leibniz says that this is the best possible world; 
Voltaire, that it is as little bad as possible. The 
difference between them is reduced to a mere trifle, 
especially if we agree that this world, whether the 
best or the least bad, contains much evil anyhow. 
But the doctrine of Leibniz is an organic part of a 
profound metaphysics of which Voltaire had no idea 
whatever. Voltaire does not go beyond the point 
of view of common experience; he holds fast to what 
we have termed semi-pessimism, being by turns 
incensed or resigned, according as his look is fixed 
upon the world or is lifted up to God. 

Having got through this difficult passage, Vol- 
taire comes to natural religion, which is the core of 
his philosophy. For this natural religion, or the- 
ism, does not go beyond the supposition that there 
is a righteous God, and that man’s reason is capable 
of rising up to Him. Theism consists in worship- 
ing God, the Father of men, and in practicing 
virtue—that is, justice to all men. These two 
elements were sufficient, but both are necessary. 
Neither morality nor belief in the existence of God 
can alone constitute theism. Morality without a 
God of justice does not sufficiently protect society; 
belief in the existence of God, without morals, is 


VOLTAIRE. 187 


not a religion, and remains fruitless. What is a 
true theist? One who says to God: ‘‘I adore and 


cemvomruhce one who saysaicouthe.) hurkys the 
Chinese, the Indian and the Russian: ‘‘I love 
you.’ He looks upon all men as his brethren, 


and worships in God their common Father. 

Was it, then, an ideal religion that Voltaire 
opposed to the existing religions? If so, it would 
have had little chance against these, and of this 
Voltaire was fully aware. Therefore he says that 
theism is not the work of philosophers but a real 
religion, and, moreover, the most ancient and 
widely spread of all. This seems a paradox not 
easily to be reconciled with the facts. According 
to Voltaire, wherever there is a religion theism 
also exists, though mingled with all sorts of belief 
and of absurd, bloody and ferocious superstitions. 
The progress of mankind consists in this, that little 
by little the pure ore of natural religion is freed 
from the coarse rock in which it was buried. 
Therein lies the fairest glory of the age which pro- 
duced Locke and Newton. The age did not invent 
theism, for this natural religion is as ancient as 
thinking mankind; but brought it again to the 
light. ‘‘Theism has made wonderful progress. 
The Earl of Shaftesbury says that one cannot 
respect too highly the great name of theist. A 
multitude of illustrious writers have openly pro- 
fessed it; most of the Socinians have at last taken 
that position.’’ Thus did that natural religion 


188 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


flourish again ‘‘which was that of the Hebrew 
nation before Moses taught them a particular form 
of worship.’’ 

Is it to be argued that this pretended antiquity 
of theism is imaginary and invented for the sake of 
the present need? Voltaire has a decisive reply. 
He’ bringsmin’ the vG@hinesemmebiere is anv enimines 
larger than the world known to the ancients, admir- 
able for its wise and lasting institutions, and whose 
religion happens to be precisely theism. What 
has been the religion of the cultured classes in 
China for so many centuries past? ‘‘Worship 
heaven and be just.’’ Though a few superstitions 
could not be prevented from spreading among 'the 
rabble (which, besides, has no need of enlighten- 
ment), all well-informed people there have been 
theists from time immemorial. We speak wrongly 
of the religion of Confucius, comparing it to our 
Western religions. Confucius preached no mys- 
teries. Hewas the prototype of the perfect theist. 

Thus theism is not an imaginary religion. To 
it, far rather than to the Church of Rome, ought 
we to apply the noble name of catholicism; for it 
includes not only all Roman Catholics, not only all 
Christians, but all mankind. It unites all churches 
in a truly universal church, which is humanity. 
The theist’s religion is indeed the most ancient and 
most widely spread, for “‘the simple worship of one 
God preceded all the systems in the world.’’ 

It is a great pity that we should not have been 
as fortunate as the Chinese. How is it that theism, 


VOLTAIRE. 189 


which among them was preserved in its purity, has 
degenerated among the Western nations? It is 
because upon natural religion, which comprised 
only belief in God and the practice of virtue, dog- 
mas were grafted,.and from them all the evil has 
sprung. Natural religion is the beneficial product 
of man’s reason; dogmas are the accursed work of 
.priests and divines. Their motives may easily 
be conjectured. Law-givers had contented them- 
selves with laying down sensible and useful pre- 
cepts; their disciples and commentators wished to 
improve on them, and said: ‘‘We shall not be 
sufficiently respected if our founder has not had 
something supernatural and divine about him. Our 
Numa needs must have met with the nymph 
meeetiayy Petc. | Theseiewretched disciples,'s and 
detestable commentators did not perceive that they 
were perverting the whole of mankind. 

This very simple hypothesis on the origin of 
dogmas being once accepted, the great use made 
of it by Voltaire is well known. The knavery 
of priests who practice upon men’s foolishness and 
credulity, their impudent quackery, their domineer- 
ing spirit, their theological quarrels, the persecu- 
tions, the slaughter of unbelievers and heretics, the 
‘‘ten millions of Christians’? who perished in wars 
or tortures—all these things, which polluted and 
dishonored the innocence of natural religion, made 
their appearance in the train of dogmas. The his- 
tory of religions, and particularly that of Christian- 
ity, occasions in Voltaire a sort of pang and 


I90 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


shudder, as would a nightmare in which the gro- 
tesque contends with the odious. Theological 
quarrels are at once the most ridiculous farce and 
the most dreadful plague in the world. And Vol- 
taire wonders that there should not be one religion 
whose precepts are not the work of a sage, and 
whose dogmas are not the invention of a madman. 

Again, universality is a token of truth. Now, all 
dogmas are different from one another, while mor- 
ality is the same among all men. The universal 
character of morals was a cherished tenet with Vol- 
taire, and he set his heart upon demonstrating it 
with the help both of reasoning and experience. 
Would society have existed at all if men had not 
conceived the idea of justice, which is the link of 
every society? ‘‘How could the Egyptian and 
the Scythian have had the same fundamental 
notions of justice and injustice had not God in all 
ages given to both of them veason, which, as it 
develops, brings into their view the same necessary 
principles?’’ Voltaire himself does not perceive 
that this reason is singularly akin to the innate 
ideas he so often ridiculed. Descartes and Leibniz 
might have contented themselves with what he here 
admits; they said no more than he did. Voltaire 
was at least aware that he differed here from Locke. 
He wondered at this declared theist saying that 
men have different ideas concerning justice. 
‘“There is but one science of morals, as there is but 
one of geometry.”’ 

Shall we turn to facts for an answer? In Siam, 


VOLTAIRE. 1gI 


China and India, in classical antiquity, among the 
savages, in all times and places, men have been 
taught that they must be just. There are deeds 
which the whole world thinks beautiful. The 
round-eyed, squat-nosed negro, who will not call 
our ladies of the court beautiful, will unhesitatingly 
bestow that qualification upon these deeds and 
Maxims ulhe more wl hayvemseenymen differing in 
climate, customs, language, laws, worship, and in 
Pheineedepree | of) \intelligencem they more). lichayve 
observed them to have the same fundamental morals. 
Every nation has particular religious rites and 
most often absurd and revolting opinions on meta- 
physics and theology; but if the question arises as 
to whether we must be just, the whole universe is 
of one mind. 

If, then, we wish to be sensible, humane and 
truly religious, we must be theists. But can we 
be Christians at the same time? There is no reason 
why we should not. Jesus himself, according to 
Voltaire, was a theist. But it was not the pure 
religion of Christ, ““Love God with all thy heart 
and thy neighbor as thyself,’’ which Voltaire found 
confronting him; it was Catholicism, with its dog- 
mas, mysteries, symbols, articles of faith, relics of 
saints, sacred books, writings of Fathers of the 
Church, decisions of church councils, bulls of the 
popes. Can theism live in peace with a system so 
remote from natural religion? No doubt it can, 
being by nature peaceful and tolerant. It is the 
only sect which will never occasion any troubles in 


Ig2 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


a state. ‘‘Theists,’’ says Voltaire, ‘‘are, with regard 
to the Christian religion, peaceful enemies it carries 
in its own bosom, who renounce it without trying 
to destroy it.’’ But he is well aware that, to use 
Pascal’s own words, the Christian religion holds 
atheism and deism in almost equal abhorrence and 
will not unresistingly suffer theism to be propa- 
gated. The conflict was therefore unavoidable. 
In the excitement of the contest Voltaire showed 
himself more and more violent. Not only are 
sacred books a subject of endless scoffing, and the 
dogmas attacked in a thousand ways in the name 
of reason; but Voltaire no longer admits that 
Christianity and theism can co-exist peacefully. 
One of the two must disappear, and it will not be 
theism. ‘‘I conclude,’’ he writes, for instance, 
‘“‘that any sensible and righteous man cannot but 
abhor the Christian sect. The great name of the- 
ist, which is not revered as it ought to be, is the 
only name one should take. The only gospel we 
should read is the great book of Nature, written by 
the hand of God and stamped with His seal. The 
only religion one should profess consists in worship- 
ing God and being a righteous man. It is as impos- 
sible for this pure and eternal religion to breed evil 
as it was for Christian fanaticism not to breed it.”’ 
Fortunately we are beginning to contend with some_ 
success against superstition and dogma. ‘“‘It seems 
that for the last fifty years reason, being introduced 
among us, has begun to destroy the pestilential 
germs which had so long infected the earth. 


’” 


VOLTAIRE. 193 


Voltaire speaks of the Christian dogma as Metter- 
nich was to speak afterward of the revolutionary 
spirit. 

It is perhaps this criticism of positive religions 
and this theory of natural religion that have chiefly 
caused Voltaire to be looked upon in our days as a 
superficial and frivolous mind. It is certain that he 
understood very little of the history of religions, 
and his irrelevant taunts are extremely shocking. 
He does not even suspect that one must first try to 
enter with sympathy into the ideas and beliefs of 
men of other times, instead of condemning them 
offhand in the name of our own reason as absurd. 
However, his error, though palpable, may be 
explained by many more or less evident causes. 
First, there was his general tendency to construct 
the history of religions instead of learning it. We 
have already observed a similar tendency in Fonte- 
nelle, and we know that its remote source lies in 
the Cartesian spirit. With Voltaire in particular, 
it: 1s:related to the ideajthatya Nature is art.’ Just 
as the world is conceived to be an immense machine, 
built by the Supreme Maker, the whole body of 
beliefs which constitute a religion is looked upon as 
a work made with set purpose by law-givers and 
priests. Voltaire in considering the material uni- 
verse does not take into account the spontaneous 
evolution due to natural forces and the finality 
residing in it; neither does he take them into 
account in the moral world. 

But, one may say, the very notion he has of the 


194 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


essence of religion is contrary to the most obvious 
observation. How can Voltaire maintain that 
dogma and worship are not essential elements in it, 
and that the whole of religion is comprised within a 
minimum number of rational beliefs joined to the 
practice of virtue? It is true that such a paradox 
in our days may seem without interest or value. 
But Voltaire, having entered upon a desperate con- 
test with a religion which forced upon reason an 
incomprehensible creed, was naturally impelled to 
oppose to it a natural religion derived from reason 
itself and fully satisfying it; and if he presented 
this natural religion as more ancient than historical 
religions, it was because truth, being eternal, always 
preserves its birthright in spite of error which 
lasts but for a time. 

Lastly, it is but fair in judging of works to view 
them from the standpoint of their author’s princi- 
ples, and not from our own. With the intellectual 
habits impressed upon us by our historical studies, 
we do not understand how anybody wishing to 
find out what religion is can dispense with observ- 
ing how, in fact, religions were born, grew up, and 
died. But Voltaire thought he had a right to seek 
what religion ought to be. Likewise, we are now 
conscious above all of the historical variety of 
human races, customs, and religions. But French 
writers in the eighteenth century, Voltaire included, 
being therein the heirs of the great philosophers of 
the seventeenth century, dwelt chiefly on the fund- 
amental identity of human nature and delighted 


VOLTAIRE, 195 


in discovering it through the diversity of times and 
places. Voltaire’s theory of religion is in perfect 
accordance with this leading idea. It may appear 
obsolete, as are the very principles on which Vol- 
taire grounded his statements, but it is not incon- 
sistent. 


This point settled, a new question arises: 
What is the use of religion in Voltaire’s system? 
Theism at bottom is merely an expression of morals. 
This universal moral principle, according to him, 
forms part, so to speak, of the very nature of man. 
Why should it be linked to any religious belief? 
No doubt Voltaire says that his religion is ‘‘the 
most simple and easy,’’ and contains ‘‘very little 
dogma’’; yet it does contain some, and that is 
sufficient to admit all doubts raised by metaphysics. 
Voltaire himself confessed that belief in the exist- 
encewmot (rod, ‘presentedmediiicultiessiUnlh/« 
physics is the romance of the mind,’’ if between 
God and ourselves there is infinity, what right have 
we to make morals, the most clear and indispens- 
able thing in the world, dependent upon belief in 


meta- 


an inaccessible God? 

But, Voltaire replies; beliefin'a)God, creator of 
the world and principle of all good, is not to be 
confounded with the subtle notions of metaphysi- 
cians. It is as universal as ethics; it is produced 
with the same irresistible spontaneousness, when 
reason is ripe. Difficulties which arise afterward 
cannot shake this belief. It lies at the bottom of 


196 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


all religions, and is the soul of truth. Therefore 
Voltaire brings the same zeal to the defense of this 
universal belief, sole dogma of natural religion, that 
he shows in combating the superstitions, the unin- 
telligible dogmas and the bloody rites that have 
multiplied in particular religions. 

Moreover) this, belief asanot only. benetigias 
but necessary. We cannot dispense with looking 
up to a retributive and avenging God. What other 
check could be put upon covetousness and hidden 
and unpunished transgressions than the idea of an 
Eternal Master who sees us and will judge even 
our inmost thoughts? Voltaire, in his turn, asks 
Bayle’s well-known question: Can a society of 
atheists exist? Yes, he answers, if it be a sort of 
academy of refined and peaceful minds; no, if it be 
an ordinary political society. In all countries the 
lower classes need to be strongly curbed, and if 
Bayle had had but five or six hundred peasants to 
govern he would undoubtedly have proclaimed 
to them a retributive and avenging God. Voltaire 
here speaks like his friend, Frederick II. _ To the 
Encyclopedists, who think him timorous and over- 
prudent, he replies by reminding them of political 
necessities. ‘‘Philosophize between yourselves as 
much as you please. I fancy I hear dilettanti 
giving for their own pleasure a refined music; but 
take good care not to perform this concert before 
the ignorant, the brutal, and the vulgar; they might 
break your instruments on your heads.’’ In one 


VOLTAIRE. 197 


word: ‘‘Let a philosopher be a disciple of Spinoza 
if he likes, but let the statesman be a theist.’’ 
Therefore, a religion is necessary for the people. 
Voltaire says this quite seriously. That threw sus- 
picion upon the sincerity of his theism. When 
he wonders how far politics will allow superstition 
to be destroyed, one may question whether ‘‘super- 
stition’’ to him did not mean the belief in God 
which he himself preached. Is, then, this religion 
also double-dealing like the others? In what 
respect can the theist consider himself superior to 
priests if he also stoops to fool mankind, were it 
even for its own good? But Voltaire easily vindi- 
cates himself from the accusation of hypocrisy. He 
himself believes in God, and he thinks all people, 
whether philosophers or ignorant men, should do 
the same. Yet there remains one difference—i. e., 
that the philosopher’s being an atheist has no seri- 
ous consequence, whereas if “‘the populace’’ cease 
to believe in a retributive and avenging God the 
most frightful disorders may be expected. It is 
with this thought in mind that Voltaire goes so far 
as to compare the atheist to the fanatic. ‘“‘Atheism 
and fanaticism are two monsters which may tear 
Society. to, pieces.”’ § In (thistthe exaggerates his 
thought, as is too often the case with him, by 
expressing it too strongly. His attention being 
fixed upon the social danger with which he wishes 
‘to impress his readers, he aims rather at striking 
hard than at striking straight. But here is a more 


198 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


accurate expression of his meaning: ‘‘Teach this 
belief (in God); no mortal has any right to contra- 
dict you. You will say something which is probable, 
and necessary to mankind.”’ 


From what has been said, it follows that the 
existence of a retributive and avenging God is 
indispensable to moral principles only in order to 
make them respected by the ‘‘brutal, the ignorant, 
and the vulgar.’’ In fact, metaphysical discussions 
have but little influence on man’s conduct. It is 
with these contests as with idle table-talk. After 
dinner every one forgets what he has said, and fol- 
lows where his interests and tastes lead him. And 
one may be virtuous without believing in the 
existence of God or in the immortality of the soul. 
‘““Any sensible man, even though an unbeliever, 
will conclude that it is evidently to his interest to 
beran\upright mans.) 0 Oi hus © we Mobsemne 
that philosophers (who are called unbelievers and 
‘libertines’) have in all times been the most upright 
people in the world. Those who must have 
recourse to religion in order to behave righteously 
are much to be pitied.’’ Here Voltaire is very 
near agreeing with Bayle. 

However, the basis of morality cannot lie in 
philosophical reflection, which is accessible only to 
a small number of thinkers. According to Vol- 
taire it lies in the very essence of human nature. 
Reason, which is common to us all, teaches us, as 
soon as it is mature, the universal law of justice and 


VOLTAIRE. 199 


injustice. ‘“‘Do thou unto others as thou wouldst 
have them do unto thee.’’ This law cannot be torn 
away from the human heart, and as it is the foun- 
dation of morality, it is also that of society. Man 
is intended to live’ in society; he has therefore 
always lived thus, and the supposition of a state of 
nature previous and superior to the state of society 
is a vain fancy. Voltaire does not permit himself 
here to be influenced by Rousseau. In accordance 
with his own principle, ‘‘Man in general has always 
been what he is,’’ he concludes that as the basis of 
society has always existed, there has always been 
some kind of society. 

This is all the more certain as not only reason, 
but also man’s inclination, makes him a sociable 
being. He is not like other animals that have only 
the instincts of self-love and of pairing. He has 
also a feeling of kindness toward his fellow-men. 
This feeling is born with us and is always at work 
in us unless combated by our self-love, which must 
needs always prevail over it. Voltaire therefore 
differs from Helvetius and other philosophers who 
would admit no original motive of our actions but 
self-love. He thinks altruism is no less natural 
than egotism. ‘‘We have,’’ he says, “‘two feelings 
which are the basis of society: commiseration and 
justice. Let a child see its fellow-creature torn to 
. pieces, he will feel a sudden pang.’’ This altruism 
is not strong enough to withstand alone the violent 
assaults of selfish desires; but fortunately it hap- 
pens that these very desires often contribute to the 


200 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


preservation and progress of society. Passions are 
the main causes of the order we now behold upon 
earth. Pride above all is its chief instrument, but 
envy and covetousness also play a partinit. ‘‘Pas- 
sions are the wheels that set all these machines in 
motion.’’ One can see that Voltaire had read 
Mandeville. 

It is likewise from a social point of view that he 
reaches his definition of virtue and vice. Moral 
good and evil in all countries are what is beneficial 
or hurtful to society; in all places and times he 
who makes the greatest sacrifices to the public is 
called the most virtuous. There is no absolute 
gvood or evil. These are relative notions like those 
of sweetness and bitterness. It follows that indi- 
vidual virtues are, strictly speaking, not virtues at 
all. What do I care whether you are temperate? 
You are observing a precept of health. You will 
feel: the better for it, and Ticongratulate youwaees 
recluse may be a saint, but I shall not call him vir- 
tuous till he has done a virtuous deed which is of 
some use to other men. 

This moral philosophy, which leaped with one 
bound from the individual to mankind, could not 
but end in cosmopolitism; and, indeed, in the 
article Paine of the Dictionnaire philosophique, V oltaire 
wrote a very sharp attack on patriotism. He 
pointed out that it is in most cases an artificial, 
selfish and hurtful feeling. He would leave to the 
heroes of Plutarch their conception of patriotism, 
and wished that the age of reason would unite all 


VOLTAIRE. 201 


separate countries into the one great jpatrie of 
humanity. Kant, Goethe and Herder shared his 
opinions on this point, and nobody would have 
thought of calling them unpatriotic men on that 
account. Public opinion on the Continent was then 
leaning toward the humanitarian ideal extolled by 
the philosophers. If it became hostile to this 
ideal later on, it was under the pressure of events 
which obliged nations to fight for existence and 
roused in them a feeling of self-consciousness. 
Again, the idea of humanity is the basis of 
Voltaire’s philosophy of history. As early as 1737, 
in his Conseils aun Journaliste, he expressed the wish 
that a universal history should really correspond to 
its title, and that in it the whole of mankind should 
be studied. It would be desirable for Orientalists 
fOpcive sus outlines. ofmticmeastern books.) The 
public would not then be so totally ignorant of the 
history of the larger part of the globe; the pompous 
name of universal history would not be bestowed 
upon a few collections of Egyptian fables, of the 
revolutions of a country called Greece, not larger 
than Champagne, and of those of the Roman 
nation, which, vast and victorious as it was, never 
ruled over so many states as the people of 
Mahomet, and never conquered one-tenth of the 
world. Later on, in the preface to his Assaz sur les 
Meurs, he openly criticises Bossuet. He reproaches 
. him with forgetting in universal history the uni- 
verse itself, with mentioning only three or four 
nations, which have now disappeared from the 


202 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE, 


earth, with subordinating these three or four pow- 
erful nations to the insignificant Jewish people, 
which occupies three-fourths of his work, and lastly, 
with passing over Islam, India and China without a 
word. Voltaire wished to secularize universal his- 
tory, which had been hitherto subordinate to theo- 
logical dogma. 

But his own conception of universal history 
remains practically incomplete, since what he knows 
of the history of the New World is next to nothing. 
And above all, he lacks a central principle that 
would enable him to understand this universal his- 
tory in its unity. Hecan but repeat that ‘‘man 
has always been what he is.’’ He implicitly be- 
lieves in this uniformity of the species, which pre- 
vents him from understanding the little he knows 
of remote antiquity. Some of the religious rites of 
the Babylonians are offensive to our idea of moral- 
ity. Voltaire does not hesitate to assume that his- 
torians lied in reporting them. The men that he 
sees everywhere are perfectly similar to those 
around him, though disguised, some as Greeks or 
Romans, others as Chinese, Persians, Turks or Hin- 
doos. He sees everywhere the public credulous 
and deluded, and the world going on its usual way, 
at once tragic and ludicrous. His romances are the 
exact counterpart of the Fssaz sur les Meurs. 
Candide, Zadig, la Princesse de Babylone, complete 
the idea of humanity given in Voltaire’s historical 
works. He does not derive his knowledge of man- 
kind from history; on the contrary, he transfers to 


VOLTAIRE. 203 


history the humanity that he already knows from 
observations of his contemporaries. 

He does not, however, deny progress; but he 
has a most peculiar notion of it. The idea of slow 
and gradual evolution, of successive stages that 
must needs be traveled in order to reach a certain 
point, does not appear in his works. Progress, 
with him, does not consist in a law of development. 
It began less than a century before with the awaken- 
ing of natural philosophy, and above all, with the 
enfranchisement of reason. No doubt antiquity 
possessed great thinkers, but it was nevertheless a 
prey to superstition. ‘‘There is not a single ancient 
philosopher who now serves to instruct young peo- 
ple among enlightened nations.’’ As for the Mid- 
dle Ages, he dispatches them in short order. 
“‘Imagine the Samoyeds and the Ostiaks having 
read Aristotle and Avicenna: this is what we were.’’ 
Ignorance, misery, and theology; the whole of the 
Middle Ages is expressed in these three plagues, 
and Voltaire cannot tell which of the three is the 
worst. According to him, scholasticism, the wars 
of religion, the plagues, famines and autos-da-fe are 
all intimately related; and we are hardly yet rid of 
them. Witches had been condemned to the stake 
in Germany as late as the seventeenth century. 
There were still in France trials like that of Calas 
-and La Barre. Therefore, when Voltaire speaks of 
the Middle Ages it is never in the tone of the his- 
torian; passion always intervenes. He is little 
acquainted with this period, but what he knows of 


204 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


it is sufficient to make him loathe and despise it. 
Nor does he study it, being persuaded beforehand 
that such study would only confirm him in his 
feeling. 

Is it surprising that Voltaire, being thus dis- 
posed, misapprehended the art of the Middle Ages, 
and was unaware of the grandeur of the age of 
Saint Louis, and of the prosperity of France before 
the Hundred Years’ War, etc.? However, it seems 
we must also acknowledge that his prejudice did not 
prevent him from giving a picture which is often 
accurate of the general history of Europe since 
Charlemagne. And though the Essaz sur les Meurs 
may not be adequate to the idea of a philosophy of 
history, the very conception of the work was an 
original one, and many of the views expressed in it 
by Voltaire were fruitful for the historians who 
came after him. 


This is not the proper place to speak of Voltaire 
as an economist, a criminalist and commentator of 
Beccaria, a writer on the theory of taste, and lastly, 
as the author of the Questions sur Lf Encyclopédie, 
which manifest his eager curiosity regarding the 
most varied subjects. Though it is difficult to draw 
the line between his philosophy, properly so called, 
and the rest of his works, we must here content 
ourselves with stating his philosophical ideas in so 
far as they may be grouped into a system. Now, 
from all that we have said it appears that his princi- 


VOLTAIRE. 205 


ple is empiricism tempered by the idea of universal- 
ity. Voltaire thinks, as Locke does, that nothing 
is given us beyond and independent of experience. 
But at the same time he is, perhaps unconsciously, 
faithful to the Cartesian tradition, and maintains 
that nothing is theoretically true or practically just 
unless it be universally accepted by reason. The 
union of these two elements is effected in the idea 
of humanity, which is both an empirical and a uni- 
versal one. From this point of view, Voltaire’s 
philosophy, in spite of its gaps and inconsistencies— 
which, by the by, are less serious than they are 
often said to be—offers a real unity. Science, 
morals, history, religion, politics, are all subjected 
by him to acriticism, which is sometimes hasty and 
partial, but which proceeds from an unchanging 
principle: To oppose to the products of an histor- 
ical evolution which varies according to places and 
times and is often irrational and absurd, the stand- 
ard of what is purely human and universally 
accepted by reason. 

Thus, over against the positive religions, he sets 
up natural religion, which contains nothing but the 
human ideal of morality. The real name of Vol- 
faire s.God 1s’ |usticedupleniceay noble: name, We 
may venture to believe that the great German 
philosophers of the end of the eighteenth century, 
_influenced like everybody else by Voltaire’s pres- 
tige, retained something of his thought on this 
point. No doubt the influence of Rousseau told 


206 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


still more strongly upon them; no doubt they 
went more deeply into the ideas of experience, 
reason, justice, and truth, which Voltaire did not 
sufficiently analyze. But though he was too little 
of a philosopher to build a system as they did, he 
succeeded in spreading critical and humanitarian 
ideas all over Europe, and even in gaining for them 
a temporary ascendency. 


CHAP Thay 


THE ENCYCLOPADISTS. 


VOLTAIRE was, indeed, in his tendencies, both 
confessed and secret, in his likes and his dislikes, 
in his good qualities and his defects, “‘the repre- 
sentative man’’ of French philosophy in the eight- 
eenth century. We have therefore been obliged 
to give a somewhat detailed account of his doc- 
trines, in which we find the average of the philo- 
sophical ideas professed by most of his contempo- 
raries. Around him was arrayed an army of 
‘“philosophers,’’ full of zeal but undisciplined and 
sometimes unruly, whose best lieutenants were the 
most independent. In spite, however, of the dif- 
ferences in their natures, tempers, aptitudes and 
talents, the public feeling was not mistaken in 
grouping them all together under one name, from 
La Mettrie to Condorcet, from Condillac to Abbé 
Raynal. Sometimes unthinkingly, but in most 
cases quite consciously, they worked together ona 
common task. Most of them used every exertion 
in combating the Roman Catholic Church, and ina 
general way Christianity itself. They rejected its 
conception of the universe and of man, which 
appeared to them false and superstitious; they con- 
demned the social order which the Catholic hier- 


207 


208 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


archy contributed to maintain, and which they 
thought unjust and oppressive. Against this 
double tyranny all weapons were lawful. They 
would preserve nothing of this religion except its 
moral teaching, and even this they reduced to its 
essential elements, and held it to be human rather 
than specifically Christian. 

In the constructive part of their work likewise, 
in spite of inevitable divergencies, they are quite 
akin to one another. Eager to lose no time in put- 
ting something in the place of that which they 
thought they had destroyed, they set to work with 
great haste, and their want of experience appears 
so constantly as to be almost monotonous. There 
is a continual recurrence of the same paradoxes, 
accepted without discussion, and of the same dubi- 
ous formule looked upon as axioms. Their common 
stock consisted of a limited number of theories, 
often superficial and rudimentary, concerning psy- 
chology, morals, politics and history, and of certain 
ideas and views which were often both profound 
and fruitful—building stones, as it were, intended 
to fit into an edifice which they were as yet unable 
toerect. For the £zcyclopedia, which they thought 
of as destined to be this edifice, represents a work- 
yard rather than a building. It has no unity, save 
in the spirit which animates it, and in the persever- 
ance of Diderot, who, in spite of obstacles and at 


the cost of untold trouble and sacrifice, finally — 


brought it to completion. 


THE ENCYCLOPAIDISTS. 209 


La Mettrie, by the date of his works, somewhat 
precedes the main body of the philosophical army. 
He died in 1751, four years before Montesquieu, 
and before Diderot, D’Alembert and Rousseau 
had produced their masterpieces. Being a disciple 
of Boerhaave, who sought to explain the phenomena 
of life by the mechanism of physical and chemical 
phenomena, being also acquainted, though some- 
what superficially, with the doctrines of Descartes 
and Locke, he composed, with elements derived 
from widely different sources, a system which he 
thought scientifically proven. It was a kind of 
materialism, based on the idea which often reap- 
Peatedmin’ the’ course ofsethescentury, (that ithe 
diversity in the orders of phenomena is due to the 
more or less complex organization of matter. As 
this organization is not the same in animals as in 
plants, nor (in certain points) in man as in animals, 
the functions which exist in plants, animals and in 
man must also be different; there is no need what- - 
ever of a special principle to explain certain of these 
functions rather than others. In opposition to 
spiritualistic dualism, which sets an abyss between 
the substance of the soul and that of the body, La 
Mettrie advanced, in his A/zstotre Naturelle de 
!’Ame, the ancient peripatetic and scholastic con- 
ception which makes of the soul the form of the 
body. Like some Aristotelians of the Renaissance, 
he slipped his own materialism into this theory. 
He openly expounded it in the Homme-Machine. 
While he praised Descartes for saying that an ani- 


210 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


mal is a machine, he reproached him for not having 
dared to say the same of man. Not that La Met- 
trie denied the existence of feeling or thought in 
animals or in man; such a paradox would seem to 
him absurd. He means that feeling, thought, con- 
sciousness, are all produced by the machine; the 
whole soul is explained by it, depends upon it, and 
in consequence disappears when it gets out of order 
or is decomposed. As a physician he quotes in 
support of his theory definite facts borrowed from 
mental physiology and pathology, and he declares 
that he will accept as his judges none but scientific 
men, acquainted with anatomy and with the phi- 
losophy of the body. 

La Mettrie’s reputation in the eighteenth cen- 
tury was very bad. In our days some have tried 
to rehabilitate him. No doubt a philosopher may 
have been a declared materialist and atheist, have 
written insipid defenses of physical voluptuousness, 
and have died from eating too freely of patties, and 
yet may none the less have been a sincere man and 
have honestly sought after truth. No doubt also 
La Mettrie more than once served as a scapegoat 
for the philosophers who followed him and perhaps 
from time to time imitated him. The nearer they 
came to him the more fiercely they expressed their 
indignation against his abominable doctrines, for 
he, being dead, had nothing to fear either from the 
police or the parliament. His good name may have 
suffered from this maneuver. Yet if we examine 
his works closely, we shall conclude that he has not 


THE ENCYCLOPADISTS. 211 


been seriously wronged. He does not sufficiently 
distinguish between what is proved and what is 
merely asserted; he has no absorbing concern for 
close reasoning and exact expression, and his lan- 
guage is often rash'in proportion to the looseness 
of his demonstrations. Let us grant that he intro- 
duced French materialism in the eighteenth cen- 
tury, but let us acknowledge at the same time that 
he too often presented it under an aggressive and 
unacceptable form. 


In 1751 appeared the Dzscours Préliminaire of 
the Encyclopedia. Diderot had acted wisely in 
asking D’Alembert to write it, and in contenting 
himself with drawing up the prospectus of his great 
enterprise. He had already been at odds with the 
authorities, and had spent several months in Vin- 
cennes on account of his Lettre sur les Aveugtles,; in 
a word, he was looked upon as a suspicious charac- 
ter. D’Alembert, a great mathematician, renowned 
for his Traité de Dynamique, and a member of the 
Academy of Sciences, was just the man to present 
the Encyclopedia to the public, and his name insured 
it against the ill-will of the enemies of philosophy. 

This discourse was much admired, but we now 
find it rather difficult to understand this admiration. 
Though we do not refuse our homage to the dig- 
nity of its tone and the elevation of its thought, we 
are rather disappointed as we read it. This is 
owing to several causes. Ideas which were new in 
those days have now become familiar and common- 


212 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


place. Several important points in D’Alembert’s 
philosophy do not appear in the Dzscours, or are 
merely. hinted. at. ,Others? jon gthes contrary mare 
developed which do not express his real thought; 
but he believed this concession to be indispensable 
in order to gain acceptance for the rest. ‘‘In the 
accursed country in which we write,’’ he said to 
Voltaire, ‘such phrases as these are notarial style, 
and serve only as passports for the truths that we 
wish to establish. Moreover, nobody is deceived 
by\themeya....) Tamerwill teqchemen ato wdice 
tinguish what we have thought from what we have 
said.’’ D’Alembert never would deviate from this 
prudent course. Accordingly we see in the works 
offered to the public a D’Alembert whose attitude 
is irreproachable and whose irony is hidden under 
the forms of respect. But the letters to Voltaire 
and to Frederick the Great show us a quite different 
sortiofpaman,, eager for! the tray, anduastinuen 
incensed against parliaments, Jesuits, Jansenists, 
priests in general and religion as the most deter- 
mined ‘‘philosopher.’’ 

Being a fervent admirer of Bacon, D’Alembert 
borrowed from him his classification of sciences, 
with a few alterations which he himself explains. 
To tell the truth, the Dzscours Préliminaire contains 
not one but three classifications of human knowl- 
edge, from three different points of view. D’Alem- 
bert first examines ‘‘the origin and development of 
our ideas and sciences from the philosophical or 
metaphysical—i. e., psychological—point of view.”’ 


THE*ENCYCLOPAIDISTS. 213 


Like a true disciple of Locke and Condillac, he 
divides all our knowledge into direct ideas and 
ideas derived from reflexion. Our direct knowledge 
is only that which has come to us through our 
senses; in other words, to our sensations alone do 
we owe our ideas.: The classification here consists, 
therefore, in tracing our complex ideas back to 
simple ones—that is, to those derived from sensa- 
tion. 

The “‘encyclopzdic order of sciences,’’ which 
comes next, is a logical order. It must not be 
confused with the order which the human mind has 
actually followed in the production of the sciences. 
In all likelihood man, spurred on by his bodily 
wants, must first have set out to meet the most 
urgent needs, and then, as he met with difficulties, 
have tried another way, then have retraced his 
steps, etc. If so, the sciences which we look upon 
as containing the principles of all others, and which 
must come first in the encyclopedic order, were not 
the first to be developed. Moreover, in the histor- 
ical order of the progress of the human mind, the 
various sciences can be viewed only in succession, 
one after another, whereas the encyclopedic order 
consists in embracing all sciences at one glance, as 
if from a height one should perceive at one’s feet a 
maze of interweaving paths. Or, again, this ency- 
clopedic order may be compared toa map of the 
world, on which we see at one glance the whole 
surface of the globe. And just as in preparing 
such a map we may choose among various systems 


214 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


of projection, so we may also conceive the encyclo- 
pedic order in several different ways. None of 
these ways is necessarily to be adopted to the 
exclusion of all others, and if D’Alembert chose 
that of Bacon it was because, without being more 
defective than the others, it has the advantage of 
suggesting with tolerable accuracy the genealogy 
of human knowledge. 

Lastly, a third order considered by D’ Alembert 
is that according to which our sciences have been 
historically developed since the Renaissance. It 
differs from the order which the human mind would 
follow if left to its own lights. In this order, 
then, the sciences of erudition came first, owing to 
the prestige of antiquity, which after long ages of 
barbarism and ignorance was rising again fair and 
luminous before the delighted eyes of men. 

Thus D’Alembert had a clear perception of the 
psychological genesis of our knowledge, of the log- 
ical order of the sciences, and of their historical 
succession. Could not these three orders have been 
combined to forma higher one? Comte later on 
attempted such a combination, but D’Alembert 
contented himself with a rapid criticism of each of 
the sciences, and a summary appreciation of the 
great minds who had created or developed them. 

And, first of all, in the already formidable mass 
of our knowledge, how few branches deserve the 
name of sciences! History, according to D’Alem- 
bert, is in no wise entitled to it. It is only of 
practical interest. Why should we not, for instance, 


THE ENCYCLOPAIDISTS. 215 


cull from it the best catechism of morals that could 
be given to children, by collecting into one book 
the really memorable deeds and words? It would 
be particularly useful to philosophers and to the 
‘‘unfortunate class’’ of princes, to teach them by 
what they learn of men who lived in former times 
to know the men with whom they live. Metaphys- 
ics should be strictly limited to what is treated of 
in Locke’s &ssay. Nearly all the other questions 
it proposes to solve are either beyond solution or 
idle. It is the food of rash or ill-balanced minds— 
Inwnone word: ‘4a \vaini ana contentious, science: 
D’Alembert is not allured, like Voltaire, by the 
hypothesis which attributes to matter, under certain 
conditions, the power to think. To him it appears 
uncalled for and dangerous. If it inclines toward 
materialism, we fall back into a metaphysical doc- 
trine no more clearly proven than any other. Is it 
not better for us to confess that we do not know at 
all what substance, soul and matter are? Like- 
wise, as regards the existence and nature of God, 
skepticism is the only reasonable attitude of mind. 
And we should be compelled to say the same of the 
existence of the outer world and of man’s liberty, 
did not instinct here supplement the deficiency of 
reason; whether the outer world exists or not, we 
have such a strong inclination to believe in it that 
everything appears to us asif it existed; and, in 
the same way, everything appears to us as if we 
were free. 

Even in the natural sciences, how limited did 


216 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


man’s knowledge appear! Physiology had hardly 
yet begun to exist. Of medicine D’ Alembert speaks 
as a man who has measured all its risks; in his 
eyes it isa purely empirical science. The physi- 
cian who builds systems and clings to a theory is 
most dangerous; that one is least to be feared who 
has seen many patients and has learned to make an 
accurate diagnosis and not to dose at random. 
Physics is more advanced and its conquests are 
lasting. Here we stand on firmer ground, but 
progress is slow and the human mind has to guard 
against itself. D’Alembert insists upon the pru- 
dent advice already given by Bacon: we should 
distrust even the most probable explanations, so 
long as they have not been tested by experience, 
and if possible, by calculation. 3 

Sciences in the highest sense of the word, 
D’Alembert called those he had been studying all 
his lifetime, and to which he owed the best of his 
glory—the mathematical sciences, which he divides 
into pure mathematics, mixed mathematics and 
physico-mathematical sciences. Certitude, prop- 
erly so called, which is founded upon principles 
necessarily true and self-evident, does not belong 
equally or in the same way to all these branches of 
mathematics. Those which rest on physical prin- 
ciples, that is, on experimental truths or on phys- 
ical hypotheses, have, so to speak, only an experi- 
mental or hypothetical certitude. 

One might infer from this that D’ Alembert looks 
upon pure mathematics, in opposition to physico- 


THE ENCYCLOPADISTS. 217 


mathematical sciences, as being really a priorz and 
independent of experience. But how could he have 
harmonized such a conception with the principle 
borrowed from Locke, according to which all our 
knowledge comes, either directly or indirectly, from 
experience? D’Alembert did not fall into this con- 
tradiction. He avoided it by means of a theory of 
mathematics which was consistent with his sensa- 
tionalistic principles, and much clearer than the 
ones to which Hume and Condillac_ resorted. 
Mathematics, in his opinion, belongs to natural 
philosophy. ‘‘The science of dimensions in gen- 
eral is the remotest term to which the contempla- 
tion of the properties of matter may lead us. 
Experience shows us individual beings and particu- 
lar phenomena, the sun, the moon, rain and wind. 


ayy 


By means of successive abstractions and of more 
and more comprehensive generalizations, we sepa- 
rate the qualities common to all these phenomena 
and beings, till at last we reach the fundamental 
properties of all bodies: impenetrability, extension 
and size. We cannot further subdivide our percep- 
tions, and we find at this point a subject for sci- 
ences which, in virtue of the simplicity of this 
subject, may be made deductive. Thus, in geom- 
etry, we strip matter of nearly all its material 
qualities, and consider, so to speak, only its ghost. 
‘‘Thus,’’ says D’Alembert in language that fore- 
shadows Stuart Mill, “‘it is merely by a process of 
abstraction that the geometrician considers lines as 
having no breadth, and surfaces as having no thick- 


218 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


ness. The truths he demonstrates about the prop- 
erties of all are purely hypothetical truths. But 
they are none the less useful, considering the conse- 
quences that result from them.’’ This empirical 
theory of mathematics, which stands in such direct 
opposition to that of Plato and Descartes, has made 
its appearance again in our century, and is anything 
but abandoned at the present day. Even such 
men as Helmholtz, though reared under the influ- 
ence of Kant, have deemed it indispensable to 
accept the statement that geometry contains ele- 
ments derived from experience. 

As the certainty of mathematics rests on the 
evidence of ideas so closely related that the mind 
perceives the connection between them at a glance, 
so the certainty of morals rests on the ‘‘heart’s 
evidence’ which rules us as imperiously. D’Alem- 
bert’s theory of morals is almost entirely identical 
with Voltaire’s. The only original feature about 
it is the personal accent that D’Alembert gives it, 
especially in his letters. To him sympathy for the 
hapless, indignation against the “‘monstrous in- 


, 


equality of fortunes’’ are not mere commonplaces, 
hackneyed expressions of a trite sentimentality, and 
homage paid to the reigning fashion. They are 
the words of a man who has seen the poor, who 
has lived among them, who has witnessed their 
sufferings, and to whom misery is a living reality, 
not a theme for literary amplification. D’Alembert 
goes so far as to ask himself whether, when driven 


to despair and reduced without fault of his own to 


THE -ENCYCLOPAIDISTS. 219 


the verge of starvation, a man is morally bound to 
respect the surplus that another has beyond his 
needs. 

In dignity of life and independence of character, 
as well as in genius, D’Alembert was among the 
glories of the party of philosophers. He more than 
once dared to contradict Voltaire. His friendship 
with Frederick never cost any sacrifice of his pride, 
and he fell out with Catherine of Russia because she 
rather haughtily rejected his intercession on behalf 
of some Frenchmen who had been taken prisoners 
in Poland. His two great passions were for mathe- 
matics and against “‘priests’’; and it is character- 
istic of the times that the latter should have 
contributed no less than the former to constitute 
him a * 


>? 


a9) 


philosopher. 


Diderot was as adventurous, expansive and 
lyrical as D’Alembert was prudent, reserved and 
methodical. But his disorder is rich in ideas. 
Diderot was one of the most extraordinary mind- 
stirring writers that the world has ever seen. The 
brightness and charm of his conversation seem to 
have been prodigious. He was called ‘‘the phil- 
osopher.’’ It must indeed be admitted that if we 
always meant by this word a man whose methodical 
and persevering meditation does not rest satisfied 
till it has found out a first principle from which it 
can deduce the whole world of reality, Diderot 
would occupy but a low place among philosophers. 
Not that he was incapable of reducing his ideas to 


220 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


a system; but the starting-point of his attempts at 
such a synthesis was variable, depending on a 
chance encounter, conversation or reading. Before 
his reason went deep into things, his imagination 
had to be stirred. But on the other hand, he was 
without a rival in rising from an apparently insig- 
nificant point to general ruling principles, and in 
discovering from that vantage ground many roads, 
some of which led him to new points of view; his 
curiosity was indefatigable, his reflection sometimes 
profound and always suggestive. 

Unfortunately, though all this be sufficient to 
exercise a considerable influence upon contempora- 
ries, it may easily fail to produce many durable 
works. All Diderot’s writings wear an air of 
improvisation, due to his ready and sudden enthusi- 
asm, and to the facility with which he could put 
together ex tempore a vast structure of ideas. It can 
therefore hardly be said that the Aucyclopedia, by 
compelling him to scatter his labors for twenty 
years upon an infinite and varied task, prevented 
him from bringing forth the great masterpiece 
which his intelligence, if concentrated, might have 
produced. It was rather because Diderot felt no 
strong desire to concentrate himself thus that he 
poured into the Exzcyclopedia and into a multitude 
-of pamphlets his wonderful gifts for quick assimila- 
tion, and uninterrupted but fragmentary produc- 
tion. 

Diderot was at first a deist, after the manner of 
Voltaire, and, like him, under the influence of the 


THE ENCYCLOPAIDISTS. 221 


English, particularly of Locke and Shaftesbury. 
He then thought, as did Voltaire, that modern 
physics had dealt materialism and skepticism a fatal 
blow. “‘The discovery of germs in itself has dis- 
pelled one of the strongest objections of atheism.’’ 
But this style of philosophy soon ceased to satisfy 
him, and he gradually inclined to what he himself 
called the most attractive form of materialism—that 
which attributes to organic molecules desires, aver- 
sions, feeling and thought—to end at last in a sort 
of pantheistic naturalism. 

Several paths led Diderot to this goal. First of 
all, he perceived that the irreducible dualism of 
soul and body was generally upheld for religious 
quite as much as for philosophical reasons; and 
this alone was sufficient to drive him away from it. 
Then, in his Lettre sur les Aveugles and Sur les 
Sourds Muets, he insists upon the relative character 
of our metaphysical conceptions. Fora blind man, 
what becomes of the proof of the existence of God 
based upon final cases? Diderot attempted, as 
Condillac did afterward, to work out the psycho- 
logical development of sensationalism. All our 
knowledge comes from the senses; how does it 
come from them? What do we owe to each of our 
senses? Can we analyze their data, and afterward 
from them reconstruct the whole? Cheselden’s 
experiment and Molyneux’s problem were known; 
Diderot wished to go beyond these, to carry this 
kind of ‘‘metaphysical anatomy’”’ still farther, and 
to take in pieces, so to speak, the senses of man. 


222 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


He imagined the ‘‘conventional mute,’’ and the 
conclusions that he drew from his psychological 
analysis alarmed many a Christian. 

But Diderot’s pantheistic tendencies seem to 
have been chiefly determined by the discoveries 
made about this time in natural science. These he 
followed with passionate interest, and his imagina- 
tion soon swept him on to bold hypotheses con- 
cerning life andthought. ‘‘We are,’’ he says, ‘‘on 
the verge of a great revolution in science.’’ In 
mathematics such menas Bernoulli, Euler, D’ Alem- 
bert, Lagrange, have “‘set the pillars of Hercules.”’ 
Nobody will go further. The natural sciences, on 
the other hand, have only just been born; and 
already the little that is known about them entirely 
changes our view of the world. For instance, to 
a mathematician studying abstract mechanics a 
body may undoubtedly, by convention, be looked 
upon as inert; but if we examine the facts, the 
inertia of bodies is a ‘‘fearful error,’’ contrary to 
all sound principles of physics and chemistry. In 
itself, whether we consider its particles or its mass, 
a body is full of activity and strength. The distinc- 
tion between inorganic and living matter is there- 
fore superficial, and strictly speaking, even false; 
for do we not plainly see that the same matter is 
alternately living and not living, according as it is 
assimilated or eliminated by a plant or an animal? 
Nature makes flesh with marble, and marble with 
flesh. Therefore, is it not very rash to assert that 
sensibility is incompatible with matter, since we do 


THE ENCYCLOPADISTS. 223 


not know the essence of anything whatever, either 
of matter or of insensibility? But, it is said, sensi- 
bility is a simple quality, one and indivisible, and 
incompatible with a divisible subject. ‘*Meta- 
physico-theological gibberish,’’ answers Diderot. 
Experience show that life is everywhere; who 
knows but feeling may be everywhere, too? 

One of the most serious objections raised against 
such a doctrine rests on the stability and perma- 
nence of living species, which seem to set an insur- 
mountable barrier between man and other animals, 
between any two living species, and above all, be- 
tween the realm of life and that of inorganic matter. 
Diderot was aware of this difficulty. He answered 
it by asserting the natural evolution of all the spe- 
cies that ever appeared on the globe. It does not 
follow because of the present state of the earth, and 
consequently of the living species and of the inani- 
mate bodies which are to be found thereon, that 
this state has always been similar in the past, or is 
to remain similar in the future. What we mistake 
for the history of nature is only the history of an 
instant of time. Just as in the animal or vegetable 
kingdom an individual begins to exist, grows, 
matures, decays and disappears, may it not be the 
same with an entire species? Who knows what 
races of animals have preceded us? And who 
knows what races of animals will succeed ours? 
Let us then waive the apparently unanswerable 
question of the origin of life. If you are puzzled 
by the question of the egg and the owl, it is because 


224 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


you suppose animals to have been originally what 
they are now. What folly! We do not know what 
they have been any more than we know what they 
are to be. 

To Diderot’s eager, universal and insatiable sci- 
entific curiosity was joined a conception of science 
itself which might already be termed “‘positivism.’’ 
We know little; let us be contented with what we 
can know. Our means of gaining knowledge reach 
as far as our real needs do, and where these means 
are denied us, knowledge is probably not very 
necessary for us. I might as well feel seriously 
grieved at not having four eyes, four feet, and two 
wings. We must accept the fact that we are as we 
are, and not aspire to a science that would be 
beyond our comprehension. If men were wise, 
they would at last give their attention to investiga- 
tions that would promise to promote their comfort, 
and no longer deign to answer questions which are 
idle because they are unanswerable. For a similar 
reason they would cease to aim at a greater degree 
of precision in science than practical considerations 
demand. In a word, ‘‘utility is the measure of 
Utility will a few centuries hence 


4 


everything.’ 
set limits to experimental physics, as it is on the 
point of doing with regard to geometry. ‘‘I will 
allow centuries to this study (physics), because its 
sphere of utility is infinitely wider than that of any 
other abstract science, and because it is unquestion- 
ably the basis of our real knowledge.”’ 

The same fervent love of humanity which ani- 


THE ENCYCLOPADISTS. 225 


mates and limits Diderot’s idea of science, is also 
to be found in his polemics against the Christian 
religion. Of course his language varied according to 
circumstances. When he did not intend to publish 
he gave free rein to his bold tongue. In this way 
he wrote the Supplément au Voyage de Bougainville, 
Le Neveu de Rameau (his masterpiece), the Evxtzre- 
piemmavecmaniaréchalec dai hi.) ineprivate 
letters he sometimes vents his rage in invectives 
against that religion, ‘‘the most absurd and atro- 
cious in its dogmas, the most unintelligible, meta- 
physical and intricate, and consequently the most 
liable to divisions, schisms and heresies, the most 
fatal to public peace and to sovereigns, the 
most insipid, the most gloomy, the most Gothic, the 
most puerile, the most unsociable in its morals, 
the most intolerant of all.’’ In the Eucyclopedia 
he makes a show of respect. Yet significant sallies 
will sometimes escape him: “‘The Hebrews knew 
what Christians term the true God; as if there were 
any false one!’’ 

His ethics, extremely lax as regards the union 
of the sexes, is unfortunately influenced by the 
lachrymose sentimentality of the times. The mo- 
ment that virtue is mentioned Diderot gets excited. 
Tears come into his eyes, his heart throbs, he gasps, 
he must embrace his friends, and they must share 
his transports. This overflow of feeling seriously 
impairs the precision of his ideas. Diderot taught 
his daughter that every virtue has two rewards: the 
pleasure of doing good, and that of winning the good 


226 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


will of others; and every vice has two punishments: 
one in our inmost hearts, the other in the feeling 
of aversion which we never fail to excite in others. 
He wished her to have no prejudices, but to have 
morals and principles ‘“‘common to all centuries and 
nations.’’ Here we recognize ideas dear to Vol- 
taire. Like him, also, Diderot considered that jus- 
tice was rooted in the very nature of man, and not, 
in spite of Locke, variable according to times and 
places. ‘“‘The maxims engraved, so to speak, on 
the tables of mankind are as ancient as man and 
preceded his laws, for which they ought to furnish 
the guiding principles.’’ But Diderot, in accord 
here with Rousseau, added that nature has not cre- 
ated us wicked, and that it is bad education, bad 
examples and bad legislation that deprave us. 

The originality of Diderot must not therefore be 
sought in his ethics; it lies elsewhere, in the mass 
of ideas set in motion by this indefatigable mind, a 
real precursor on many points of the present cen- 
tury, which has justly shown a predilection for him. 
He anticipates the progress of the natural sciences 
and the change they were to bring to the general 
conception of the universe, and consequently to the 
whole life of mankind. He was among the first to 
recognize the social importance of the mechanic 
arts, by giving them the place they were entitled 
to in the Excyclopedia. He raised in public esteem 
the men who practice these arts, and thus did for 
the workman what the physiocrats were at the same 
time doing for the husbandman. At the same time 


THE ENCYCLOPADISTS. 22 


his Salons were making the beginnings of art criti- 
cism, and teaching his contemporaries how to look 
at pictures and statues. On dramatic art and the 
art of the comedian he brought forward many 
ingenious and profound ideas—and finally he 
revealed in many articles of the Euxcyclopedia a 
searching knowledge of the history of philosophy, 
then neglected and almost unknown in France. 

Goethe, who greatly admired him, said that his 
was ““the most Germanic of French heads.’’ Indeed 
very few French philosophers have had as keen a 
sense of the great pulse of universal life and of the 
creative power of nature, or as sound and penetrat- 
ing an insight into manifold reality. He occupies 
a special place, which we must almost despair of 
defining in a satisfactory manner. We can neither 
set forth his philosophical thoughts without exhibit- 
ing their shortcomings, nor yet point out these 
drawbacks without running the risk of being unjust 
to this vast, powerful and unrestrained genius. 


Even as compared with lesser men than D’Alem- 
bert and Diderot, Helvetius is not the most original 
of the ‘‘philosophers,’’ yet his book, De?’ Esprit, 
created a wonderful sensation, both in France and 
abroad. This success was partly due, at least in 
France, to the personality of the author, who was 
a great financier and a kind, generous, hospitable 
and friendly man, who approached very near to the 
most esteemed type of man of the eighteenth cen- 
tury: the man of feeling who is virtuous and made 


228 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


happy by his virtue. The success was undoubtedly 
also due in part to a captivating style; easy to read, 
composed with a manifest concern for the favor of 
women, and weaving in short stories and anecdotes 
De l Esprit did not repel even the most indolent 
reader. Lastly, its success was due to the appar- 
ent boldness of the paradoxes, which however were 
nothing but the fashionable opinions carried to 
their logical conclusions. The strange thing was 
that the success of Helvetius lasted for a long time, 
and at the end of the century it was still thought 
worth while to refute him. 

Apart from the current doctrine of sensational- 
ism, for which Helvetius was evidently indebted to 
Condillac or to some other contemporary writer, 
his two main paradoxes are the following: (1) That 
personal interest or the pursuit of happiness is the 
only principle, whether confessed or not, of human 
actions; (2) that education can do everything. The 
first paradox was not new. Many a moralist, not 
to mention La Rochefoucauld, had already shown 
the infinite cunning of self-love, and concluded that 
men, even in the actions that seem most disinter- 
ested actions, are always more or less hypocritical. 
But Helvetius gives. his argument a quite different 
turn. There is no pessimism or bitterness about 
him; he is full of kindness. ‘‘It was not the love 
of paradoxes,’’ he writes, ‘‘that led me to my 
conclusion, but solely a desire for men’s happiness.”’ 
And he flatters himself that his doctrine may con- 
tribute to it. Indeed, if it be once granted that 


THE ENCYCLOPAIDISTS. 229 


man never seeks anything but his own interest, let 
law-givers so contrive that the general interest shall 
always agree with private interests, and all men 
will be good and happy. Everything, therefore, 
depends upon the laws. Wherever private interest 
is identified with public interest, virtue in each indi- 
vidual becomes the necessary effect of self-love 
and personal interest. ‘‘All the vices of a nation 
- almost invariably originate in some defects of its 
legislation.’’ 

Diderot justly observed that this omnipotence 
attributed to the laws repeats in an exaggerated 
form the conception of Montesquieu, who saw an 
inseparable connection between morals and the sys- 
tem of government, and thus attributed to political 
laws an influence not always confirmed by experi- 
ence. Furthermore, with Montesquieu the forms 
of government depend, in their turn, upon climate 
and a multitude of conditions, whereas Helvetius 
expressly opposes Montesquieu’s theory of cli- 
mates. He maintains that the action of the law- 
giver is supreme everywhere, and that no obstacles 
are insuperable if this action be properly directed. 
If it be objected that the pursuit of personal interest 
is rather a narrow basis to sustain the whole edifice 
of human society, he answers that as all things 
come from experience, the feeling which was after- 
ward to be called altruism is no exception to the 
rule. The soral instinct, the moral sense, the 
natural capacity for beneficence and benevolence, 
appealed to by the English, are not to be admitted. 


230 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


‘““The vaunted system of the morally beautiful is 
really nothing but the system of innate ideas, 
demolished by Locke, and brought forward again 
under a somewhat different form.’’ No individual 
is born good, no individual is born wicked. Both 
goodness and wickedness are accidents, being the 
result of good or bad laws. 

Thence logically follows the second paradox, 
according to which education alone creates differ- 
ences among men. Since nothing is innate or 
hereditary, every human soul is at first a blank 
page, and all souls are identical at birth. Inequal- 
ity among minds is therefore due to the various 
circumstances in which men have been placed, to 
the passions aroused by these circumstances, to the 
power of attention that these passions produce, in 
short, to a thousand causes, but above all to educa- 
tion. Pedagogy is to individuals what political 
science is to nations. Error is an evil which, like 
vice, may be avoided. To insure the happiness of 
mankind, it will only be necessary to bring the art 
of education to perfection. Education will make 
enlightened men and even “‘men of genius as 
numerous as they have hitherto been scarce.’’ The 
enormity of the paradox did not prevent its making 
an impression upon the public. It had at least the 
merit of calling attention to the then quite new sci- 
ence of pedagogy, and of preparing the public to 
welcome Rousseau’s Emile. Besides, the influence 
of Rousseau was already quite perceptible in Helve- 
tius. ‘‘Everything is acquired’’ is, indeed, accord- 


THE ENCYCLOPADISTS. 231 


ing to Locke’s conception, the negation of innate 
ideas; but it is also, according to Rousseau’s con- 
ception, the assertion that the errors, sufferings and 
crimes of men are their own work, and that it is for 
the educator and the law-giver to cure them. 


Le Systeme de la Nature, by Baron D’ Holbach, 
which appeared in 1770, is a less superficial and 
more vigorous work than the writings of Helvetius. 
Being a confessed materialist, D’Holbach defines 
man as a material being, organized so as to feel, 
think and be modified in certain ways peculiar to 
himself—that is, to the particular combinations of 
substances of which he is composed. The intellec- 
tual faculties may be reduced to changes produced 
by motion in the brain. The word ‘‘spirit’’ has no 
meaning. The savages admit the existence of 
‘‘spirits’’ to explain effects for which they cannot 
account, and which seem to them marvelous. Such 
an idea of spirit is preserved only by ignorance and 
sloth. It is more useful to divines, but most harm- 
ful to the progress of society, which keeps pace with 
science. The immortality of the soul is a religious 
dogma which never was of any use except to 
priests, and is not even a check upon the passions 
if they are at all violent, as experience sufficiently 
proves. And as necessary laws govern all natural 
phenomena, intellectual and moral phenomena 
included, moral freedom is quite out of the question. 

So far this materialism had nothing remarkable 
about it unless it be its perfect frankness. But on 


2 32 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


the question of the existence of God, D’Holbach 
subjected deism and theism to a searching criticism, 
obviously directed against Voltaire’s natural reli- 
gion, and worthy of some notice. People make a 
wrong use of physics in behalf of metaphysics, says 
D’Holbach, and the study of nature should have 
nothing to do with moral or theological interests 
lest a new chance of errors be added to all those we 
already have to guard against. But even if we 
overlook this point, the argument based on final 
causes does not prove what it is thought to prove. 
First of all, the idea of order is relative to human 
canons of propriety, and if we leave these out of 
account, disorder is in itself no less natural and 
normal than order, nor illness than health; all phe- 
nomena being produced by virtue of the same laws. 
Then) 4) tovbe ‘surprised, thatthe heart, the:bram: 
the arteries, etc., of an animal should work as they 
do, or that a tree should bear fruit, is to be sur- 
prised that an animal or a tree should exist.’’ 
What we call finality is but the total sum of the 
conditions required for the existence of every being. 
When these conditions are found combined, the 
living being subsists; if they cease to be so, it dis- 
appears; and this very simple proposition, which is 
true as regards individuals, is no less so as regards 
species and even suns. There is nothing in this 
which compels us to have recourse to a Providence, 
the author and maintainer of the world’s order. 
The divine personality, upheld by theists, is 
untenable. Newton, the vast genius who divined 


THE ENCYCLOPADISTS. 233 


Nature and its laws, is only a child when he leaves 
the domain of physics; and his theology shows that 
he had remained in bondage to the prejudices of his 
childhood. What is that God, lord and sovereign 
of all things, who rules the universe, but an anthro- 
pomorphic conception, which was only a reminis- 
cence of Newton's Christian education? And what 
is Voltaire’s retributive and vengeful God but a 
reminiscence of precisely the same kind? 

The deists’ God is useless, the theists’ God is 
full of contradictions. If we nevertheless accept 
him, we have no right to reject anything in the 
name of reason, and we are inconsistent if we 
refuse to go further and to submit to religious 
dogma. Theism is liable to as many heresies and 
schisms as religion, and is, from a logical point of 
view, even more untenable. So there will always 
be but a step ‘‘from theism to superstition.’’ The 
least derangement in the machine, a slight ailment, 
some unforeseen affliction, are sufficient to disturb 
the humors, and nothing more is required. Natural 
religion is only a variety of the other kind of religion, 
and speedily comes back to the original type. It is 
fearand ignorance of causes that first suggested toman 
the idea of his gods. He madethem rude and fierce, 
then civilized, like himself; and nothing bnt science 
can cause this instinctive theology to disappear. 

The appearance of this book, in which the 
author (though under an assumed name) so boldly 
carried his principles to their utmost logical conclu- 
sions, created great commotion among the ‘‘phi- 


234 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


losophers.’’ Though they did not all feel indignant, 
they nearly all thought it advisable to simulate indig- 
nation. Voltaire strongly protested, and this time 
he was sincere. Diderot, who was suspected of 
having had a hand in the work, kept very quiet. 
D’Alembert confessed that the Systeme de la Nature 
Was. a stetrible book.wen Bredentckeall avery mace 
shocked, wrote a refutation of it. He clearly per- 
ceived the revolutionary ideas lurking in it, and 
became out of humor with the Encyclopzdists, 
who were friends and intimates of Baron D’ Holbach. 
As for Rousseau, he had already broken with them 
long before, and had not waited for this book 
before opening the battle against materialism and 
atheism, which he ‘‘held in abhorrence.”’ 
Nevertheless Rousseau had contriouted to the 
Encyclopedia in the first years of its publication; 
Condillac, Turgot, Quesnay had likewise written 
articles for it, and unfortunately other men besides, 
who were unworthy of such neighbors. In spite 
of Diderot’s efforts there are strange incongruities 
in the Encyclopedia, and we easily understand Vol- 
taire’s frequent indignation at the vapid or high- 
flown nonsense which Diderot was compelled to 
insert. D’Alembert, who ceased in 1757 to be 
associated with him in publishing the Encyclopedia, 
though he went on contributing to it, often pleads 
extenuating circumstances in his Letters to Voltaire. 
It was he who, in his Descours Préliminaire, gave 
perhaps the best characterization of this undertak- 
ing in which the philosophical spirit of the age 


THE ENCYCLOPAIDISTS. 235 


7 


found its expression: ‘‘The present century,’’ he 
said, “‘which thinks itself destined to alter laws of 
all kinds and to secure justice i 

The philosophers proceeded to 
with an eagerness, a confidence in their own reason 
and in their paradoxes and a power of self-delusion 
that were extraordinary. The government they 
controlled existed only in imagination, and there 
was no check of experience to bring them to a halt 
in time. The work which they did too hastily now 
seems to us rather poor and out of proportion to 
their claims; but it does not follow that this work 
was not necessary, or that they were wrong in 
undertaking it. On the contrary, their impulse on 
the whole was generous, and for this reason, in 
spite of all their failings, it proved irresistible and 
carried away the very men who ought to have been 
its natural adversaries. Hatred of falsehood, super- 
stition, oppression, confidence in the progress of 
reason and science, belief in the power of education 
and law to overcome ignorance, error and misery, 
which are the sources of all our misfortunes, and 
lastly warm sympathy for all that is human were 
shed abroad from this focus to the ends of the civil- 
ized world. Events followed which left an indelible 
mark upon history. And though a clear-sighted 
reaction showed the weaknesses, inconsistencies and 
lapses of this philosophy, it may well be believed 
that its virtue is not yet quite exhausted, and that 
by laying its foundations deeper it may yet rise 
again with new strength. 


alter the laws’’ 


c¢ 


CHAR TE Ra Nala 


JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 


ROUSSEAU’S personality exhibits so much complex- 
ity, and yet at the same time so much unity, that it 
is no easy thing to study in him the philosopher 
apart from the man of letters. His philosophical 
tenets are the very soul of his talent as a writer. 
They are_not merely the result of his mind’s reflec- 
tions upon the great problems, but rather of his 
heart’s inmost tendencies. Rousseau the philos- 
opher is Rousseau’s entire self. Yet this very fact 
gives to his philosophical doctrine, if we try to 
examine it separately, a certain character of unity. 
His solutions of the essential questions are in har- 
mony with one another, and it is not impossible to 
discover the general principles from which all the 
rest springs. 

The chief philosophical problem, according to 
Rousseau, is the moral problem from the two-fold 
point of view of the individual and of society. He 
feels but little curiosity for theoretical questions, 
properly so called. Though a subtle and some- 
times rigorous dialectician, it never occurs to him 
to reflect upon logic. Exact sciences have but little 
interest for him. The strong liking for botany 
which he manifested in his later years came from 

236 


ROUSSEAU. 237 


an esthetic, and in a certain sense religious, feeling. 
On the other hand, everything relating to man’s 
conduct and destiny moved him deeply. He was 
led to philosophical reflection by the discomfort, 
suffering and often indignation bred in him either 
by his intercourse with other men, or by the sight 
of men’s intercourse with one another. Morals, 
institutions and beliefs all hurt him, and appeared 
to him false and different from what they should 
be. Whence comes it that the immense majority 
of men are sunk in poverty, in order to maintain in 
luxury the few who in their turn suffer from having 
no rule of life and nothing more to desire? Whence 
comes it that the weak and the powerful are equally 
dependent upon one another, and equally unhappy? 
Why do we find lurking beneath the apparent 
refinement and mildness of manners the cold rage 
of envy, base covetousness, desperate pursuit of 
personal interest, indifference to public good, hard- 
ness of heart and cruelty? Why does the develop- 
ment of arts and sciences, notwithstanding the 
excellence of a few individuals, seem to have made 
mankind worse and more miserable still? And 
lastly, why is hypocrisy universal, making it possible 
for Rousseau to appear original merely because he 
said what was as clear as daylight to everybody? 
In short, to reduce all these questions to two essen- 
tial ones, is it necessary that man and society should 
be what they are? If wecan conceive the possibility 
of their being otherwise, by what means can man 
be brought back to truth, virtue and happiness? 


238 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


To the first of these two questions there is a very 
simple answer, supplied by Christian theology: 
Man fell though sin. His nature is corrupt, and it 
is not a surprising thing that what springs from 
such a nature should be corrupt also. Rousseau 
did not content himself with this appeal to mystery. 
Had he done so, he might have been a more ortho- 
dox Christian, but his effect upon his contempo- 
raries would have been far less great, and he might 
have had none whatever. How could the theologi- 
cal solution be proposed again to minds feverishly 
longing for enfranchisement, and impatient to apply 
reason to the treatment of those subjects which 
theology had kept to itself for so many centuries? 
And then, had he borrowed his argument from the 
doctrine of the fall of man, what could he have said 
on morals that had not been well said already by 
Nicole and Malebranche? Instead of simply taking 
human perversity as a fact, Rousseau, by a stroke 
of genius, set himself to the study of its genesis. 
Instead of supposing it to be innate, he sought to 


discover how it was acquired. ‘‘AIl you can see is 
man in the hands of the Devil,’’ he writes to the 
Archbishop of Paris; ‘‘but I see how he came 


there. The cause of evil, according to you, is 
man’s corrupt nature; but this corruption is itself 
an evil, and what ought to have been done was to 
seek its cause. We both agree that man was cre- 
ated good, but you say he is wicked because he has 
been wicked, while 7 demonstrate how he came to 
be wicked.’’ In short, according to Rousseau, the 


ROUSSEAU. 239 


dogma of original sin is not so much a solution as a 
statement of the problem. He attempted to sup- 
ply a real solution and to offer an explanation 
instead of a dogma. | 

The undertaking.was a bold one, and character- 
istic of the age which asserted that in man ‘‘every- 
thing is acquired,’’ and which, in its desire to set 
the individual man wholly free from all sense of 
solidarity with his fellows, except in so far as he 
himself freely accepted it, endeavored with Condil- 
lac and Helvetius to belittle and even to deny the 
influence of heredity. In the same way, Rousseau 
attacked the formidable problem of the origin of 
evil in the human soul, still unsolved save in reli- 
gious metaphysics, without stopping to ask himself 
whether it was not beyond the reach of his reason. 
That reason set the problem, was for him sufficient 
ground for believing that reason was capable of 
solving it. Though Rousseau was an adversary of 
the philosophers and out of patience with their 
misuse of reason, it did not occur to him, any more 
than to them, to submit reason itself to criticism 
and to measure its power. 


The search for the genesis of moral and social 
evil implies that man was once innocent and good. 
If we thus admit a ‘‘contradiction’’ (a word Rous- 
seau was wont to use with the meaning of ‘‘opposi- 
tion’’) between man’s primitive nature and our 
social order, we shall see that it is sufficient to 
explain all the vices of men and the evils of society. 


240 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


But it is no light task to discern what is original 
and what is artificial in the present nature of man. 
How can we know his “‘primitive state, which 
exists no longer, may never have existed, will prob- 
ably never exist again, but of which we must, never- 
theless, have some precise notions in order to judge 
rightly of our present state?’ We see that Rous- 
seau does not fora moment claim for his researches 
the character of historical investigations. He 
makes no pretension to anthropological science. 
He does not even seek to discover what primitive 
man may actually have been. The genesis he 
undertakes to seek is an analytical one, like those, 
attempted in psychology by Diderot, Condillac and 
Buffon, to which the public had given a very favor- 
able reception. Just as Condillac, in tracing our 
knowledge back to its first elements, did not have 
recourse to direct observation, but by a sort of ideal 
analysis, eliminated in imagination all the senses save 
one, in order to establish the special data of that 
one, after which he brought back the other senses 
one by one, so Rousseau proceeds, as he himself 
says, by means of ‘‘hypothetical and conditional”’ 
reasoning. He first considers the nature of man as 
he now is, and determines all that may be explained 
by the influence of social intercourse, of surround- 
ings, education, etc. Then, suppressing all that is 
thus explained, he infers that what remains must 
have been the original nature of man. 

Those who objected that Rousseau’s ‘‘man in a 
state of nature’’ had never existed, failed therefore 


ROUSSEAU. 241 


very egregiously to understand him. It is as if one 
should object that Condillac’s animated statue 
never existed. Rousseau’s method is quite a psy- 
chological one. It was ‘‘by meditating upon the 
first and simplest operations of the soul’’ that he 
endeavored to deduce the feelings and ideas of the 
natural man. Nature, whose voice cannot be com- 
pletely hushed, was to tell him by means of an 
- inward feeling, whether his hypotheses were accept- 
able. Hehadin her a means, if not of verification, 
at least of control. 


In order to separate at once from man’s present 
nature all that the successive generations have 
acquired in the course of the centuries, Rousseau 
supposes the original man to have lived alone. 
Even the family did not yet exist; it was a first 
revolution that brought about the establishment of 
families and the distinctions between them.  Origi- 
nally man did not live in society any more than 
wolves and monkeys do; he occasionally joined his 
fellow creatures, but usually kept aloof from them. 
He was an animal, inferior in certain respects to 
some, but upon the whole superior to all others. 
His body was robust, and mainly unacquainted 
with other ills than wounds and old age. The 
innumerable diseases to which civilized man is a 
prey were unknown to men ina state of nature; 
moreover, as the sway of natural selection was 
undisputed among them, every weak and deficient 
individual, not being able to get beyond childhood, 


242 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


was eliminated at the outset. As regards his mind, 
his first state, in common with all animals, must 
have been that of simple perception and feeling; to 
will and to be unwilling, to desire and to fear— 
these must have been the first and almost the only 
operations of his soul. He felt no curiosity, and his 
mind stagnated indefinitely. As he wandered 
through the forests, without industry and without 
speech, neither at war with his kind nor bound by 
any ties to them, having no need of his fellow-crea- 
tures and at the same time no desire to harm them, 
he had only so much feeling and enlightenment as 
belongs to such a state; there could be no educa- 
tion and no progress. The species was already old, 
and man remained still a child. His only passion 
was the love of his own person (not self-love, which 
supposes a distinction between personal interest and 
the interest of others—that is, of society). He had 
a natural inclination to pity, when he beheld one 
of his fellow-beings in distress. 

But this harmless animal, apparently so nearly 
like the others, had that within him which could 
create between him and them an almost boundless 
difference. He was ‘‘perfectible.’’ He possessed 
the potentiality of reason, and of everything that 
comes in its train—language, civil society, morality 
and progress. The difficulty is to understand how 
the solitary man became sociable, and what started 
that extraordinary evolution of which modern soci- 
eties are the outgrowth. Rousseau confesses that 
the transition puzzles him; he has recourse to ‘‘the 


ROUSSEAU. 243 


spur of necessity,’’ to the presence of want, occa- 
sioned apparently by the increase of population. 
How did man begin to think? ‘“‘The more we 
meditate upon this subject, the greater the distance 
between pure sensations and the most simple form 
of knowledge’ appears. And how are we to ex- 
plain the origin of language? Rousseau thinks the 
problem insoluble: he does not know which was the 
more indispensable prerequisite for the creation of 
the other—a society already in operation or a lan- 
guage already invented. 

Having reached this point, the author sketches 
a sort of hypothetical pre-history, in which man, 
having once left the state of nature behind him, is 
constantly led on to new inventions by new wants. 
His intelligence and sensibility developed, the fam- 
ily is constituted, and groups of families are formed ; 
common tradition, knowledge and beliefs are estab- 
lished. Finally, when the last traces of the state 
of nature are obliterated, the idea of property 
appears. This idea, dependent as it is upon many 
other previous ideas, which could have arisen only 
one after another, was not formed all at once in the 
human mind; many improvements had to be made 
and much industry and enlightenment to be acquired 
before it could occur to men. 

Property implies the organization of civil soci- 
ety, of penal justice and the legal recognition of 
inequality. Henceforth there must be rich men and 
poor men; and by a prodigious piece of dexterity, 
those who have possessions have managed to get 


244 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


their wealth insured and protected by those who 
have none. Soon there will be powerful men and 
weak men, and in the end masters and slaves. 
Inequality thus reaches its last stage. In the state 
of nature men were all equal, save for a few phys- 
ical differences, since they all led the same peaceful 
and solitary life. . In the present state someé/are 
starving, while others are wallowing in superfluous 
wealth, and all become crafty, jealous and wicked. 

But, one might object, was it not by virtue of 
his very nature that man developed his reason and 
eradually formed the family, property and civil 
society? If the social man existed as a germ or 
potentiality within the original man, is it fair to 
oppose them to each other? Rousseau forestalled 
the objection. Such an evolution, he says, was 
not inevitable. It might possibly not have taken 
place. Nature had but meagerly endowed men for 
sociability. She had very little share in all that 
they did to. make fast its bonds. She had made 
him rather for solitude. Perfectibility, social virtues 
and all other potentialities which the natural man 
had received could never have developed of them- 
selves; they needed the chance conjunction of sev- 
eral causes which might never have occurred; man 
would then have remained forever in his primitive 
condition. But when once this evolution had 
begun, and above all, when once society had been 
established, every step taken brought man farther 
from his original type. 

Thus the long toil of civilization, which gave us 


ROUSSEAU. 245 


arts, sciences and industry, also brought upon us 
diseases, misery, sufferings of all kinds, and espe- 
cially vices. Society is an assemblage of artificial 
men, preyed upon by factitious though only too 
real passions, for which in the primitive state there 
was no occasion. ‘Therefore, if man’s nature is 
now corrupted, we must not infer therefrom that it 
has always beenso. This corruption is his own work, 
_and the ransom to be paid for his release from sav- 
agery. 


Thus did Rousseau solve the first problem he had 
set himself, and trace the genesis of social evil. 
Where are we to seek a remedy for it? This rem- 
edy, if it exists, can be found only in a system of 
education that would rehabilitate man depraved by 
the morals and institutions of to-day. But sucha 
system of education implies a whole system of phi- 
losophy, for it presupposes a thorough knowledge 
of man’s nature, of the laws of his mental develop- 
ment, of his private and public intercourse with his 
fellow-creatures, of his place in nature, of his future 
destiny, and lastly of the first cause of all things. 
This philosophy Rousseau was to undertake, and 
’’ as opposed to everything ficti- 
tious or conventional, was to be the clew that he 
followed in his researches. 


the idea of ‘‘nature 


9 


Though an adversary of the ‘‘philosophers,’ 
Rousseau had at first been their friend, and to a 
certain degree their disciple. We have observed 
that the influence of Condillac and Diderot had left 


246 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


upon him a lasting impression. If he fell out with 
them and began combating them, it was because 
the doctrines in which they delighted were most 
revolting to him. At the outset and before argu- 
ing the matter at all he was thoroughly convinced 
that these doctrines could not be true. He felt 
sure of this from the feeling of repulsion they 
aroused within him, a feeling as spontaneous and 
irresistible as an instinct. Afterwards he sought 
reasons for it, but these justified his certitude and 
did .notvadd /to it.) i) -Not onlyyamul not. a amateni- 
alist,’’ he wrote towards the latter part of his life, 
‘“but I do not even remember having been tempted 
for an instant to become one.’’ Goethe, in a cele- 
brated passage of his Memoirs, has depicted in 


’ 


striking terms the impression of repugnance and 
disgust produced upon him by the book of Baron 
D’Holbach; these were the very feelings of Rous- 
seau. Materialism—that is, in the language of the 
time, the philosophy of the Encyclopedists when 
they speak out their minds—needs only to be 
stated in order to be refuted. The heart rejects it, 
conscience condemns it, and from this verdict there 
is no appeal. It matters little that its deductions 
appear to be closely reasoned. ‘‘When a philos- 
opher tells me that trees feel and rocks think, it 
will be in vain for him to beguile me with his subtle 
arguments; I can see in him but a disingenuous 
sophist, who would rather give feeling to stones 
than grant a soul to man.’’ 

Most certainly, were demonstration possible in 


ROUSSEAU. 247 


such matters, we should have to keep to truths 
that are proved; but the extraordinary variety of 
doctrines is sufficient to show that none of them is 
evident. Philosophers only multiply the causes 
for doubt. The more we read them the less we are 
able to come toaconclusion. Their whole art con- 
sists in giving the appearance of truth to paradoxes 
which one is at first tempted to reject without 
examination. Are we, then, to suspend our judg- 
ment indefinitely? But this I cannot do, says 
Rousseau. Doubt is too violent a state for my 
soul. My soul longs to be convinced and thirsts 
after belief. It takes a serious view of life, and 
therefore it must know what life is. Since the phi- 
losophers cannot tell me, I will inquire elsewhere. 
“Let me consult the inward light; it will not lead 
me so far astray as they do, or at least the error will 
be mine, and I shall be less depraved if I trust to 
my own illusions than if I am led away by their 
lies.’’. This inward light is ‘“‘natural,’’ whereas 
philosophers nearly always come to conclusions 
extremely remote from what nature suggests to us. 
They seem to take pleasure in adopting the reverse 
of what the majority of men think and believe. 
This, according to Rousseau, is at once a token of 
pride and a risk of error. The first and most com- 
mon notion is also the simplest and most sensible, 
and often would only need to be the last proposed 
in order to win universal approbation. 
Metaphysical truth is therefore accessible to all 
men, but to the philosopher less than to any other 


248 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


on account of his taste for abstruse researches and 
difficult solutions. A simple and sincere man will 
trust to natural light and be content with the con- 
victions it furnishes him. Thus, whatever Locke 
may say to the contrary, I need to know of matter 
only that it has extension and divisibility to feel 
assured that it cannot think. Matter in itself seems 
to me indifferent to motion and rest. Therefore it 
has’ inyutself:.no- powersto actt fli it acts, wits 
because either motion or life has been communi- 
cated to it.’’ With still better reason shall I 
refuse to admit that feeling and thought depend 
simply upon a certain organization of matter. ‘“‘I 
have earnestly endeavored to conceive the exist- 
ence of a living particle, but without success. The 
idea of sentient matter that has no senses appears 
to me unintelligible and contradictory. In spite, 
therefore, of all arguments (no doubt those set 
forth by Diderot in Le Réve de D’ Alembert, which 
Rousseau must have heard from the author’s lips), 
I shall persist in believing that the soul isa sub- 
stance distinct from the body.”’ 

If matter is essentially inert, the soul, on the 
contrary, is essentially active. Sensationalism 
seeks to reduce this activity as much as possible. 
It is not contented with saying that whatever enters 
our understanding comes by the way of our senses; 
this Rousseau admitted, as did all men of his time; 
it furthermore asserts that all operations of the 
mind may be reduced to sensation. Even judg- 
ment would seem to be only a comparison between 


ROUSSEAU. 249 


two sensations, a comparison not made by the 
mind, but produced init. It would never be pro- 
duced, answers Rousseau, if the mind had not an 
active part in the operation. ‘“‘In my opinion the 
distinctive faculty of the active and intelligent 
being, is that he can attach a meaning to the word 
‘is.’ I seek in vain in the being of pure sensation 
this intelligent force which first compares and then 
’ judges.’’ Rousseau did nothing more than point 
out this theory of judgment, but he no doubt 
touched here one of the weak points of his adver- 
saries. 

The same method was used by Rousseau con- 
cerning the existence of God. Here again he begins 
by criticising the materialists. Matter is inert. To 
account for the motion of the universe we therefore 
need an intelligent motive power. How does this 
force move matter? I do not know, and the prob- 
ability is that I shall never know. But am I better 
acquainted with the soul’s way of moving the body? 
Yet I cannot doubt that it does move it. 

The proof taken from final causes appeals to 
Rousseau still more strongly than the proof taken 
from the necessity of a moving cause. The spec- 
tacle of nature, and above all, the sight of organ- 
ized beings, delighted him. He compares the 
special ends of every species, its means for attaining 
them, and the order of its settled relations, and the 
‘‘inward testimony’’ tells him that all this would 
not exist if supreme wisdom did not preside over 
the order of the universe. No doubt this proof, 


250 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


like the preceding one, is open to objections, and 
what is worse, to unanswerable objections. But 
Rousseau was not afraid of these, and had some- 
thing better than arguments to oppose against 
them. What is the use of silencing me, he said to 
his adversaries, if you cannot persuade me; and 
how can you take from me the involuntary feeling 
which contradicts you in spite of myself? Cold 
reasoning cannot prevail against my ardent convic- 
tion. Thus, I believe that the world is presided 
over by a wise and powerful Will; I see this, or 
rather, I feel it, and it is the only important thing 
for me to know. Do not ask me whether the world 
is eternal or was created, or what are the metaphys- 
ical attributes of God. It is sufficient for me to 
have an unshaken conviction that He exists, that 
He moves the universe, that He ordains all things, 
and that He is therefore intelligent, powerful and 
good. Let philosophers search further; my heart 
and reason are contented with this. 

Therefore the problem of evil, which Voltaire 
thinks so formidable, causes Rousseau but little 
anxiety. In along letter, addressed to none other 
than Voltaire, on the occasion of his Poem on the 
Earthquake at Lisbon, Rousseau resolutely defends 
optimism. If we admit that there is a powerful, 
wise and good God, and that the world is His work, 
how can we, without contradicting ourselves, say 
that this work is bad? God's designs may be 
inscrutable, but they must needs be perfect like 
Himself. Then, if we examine the different kinds 


ROUSSEAU. 2m 


of evils from which we suffer, moral evil is unques- 
tionably our own work, and physical evil would be 
nothing but for our vices, which have given it its 
poignancy for us. ‘‘O man!’’ exclaims Rousseau, 
"seek no; more the, authomot/evil; itis thyself.’ 
Nature had not raised in Lisbon four-storied houses 
to crush their inmates in their fall when the earth 
quakes. Nature intended man to live in the open 
air; man has built cities—abysses which engulf 
mankind. Moreover, here again the arguments of 
philosophers are powerless against the strength of 
inward feeling, which bears as strong a testimony 
to God's goodness as to His existence. In matters 
so far above the reach of human understanding, 
shall an objection which I cannot refute, vanquish 
at one blow a body of doctrines so compact, so 
closely linked together, formed after such careful 
meditation, so well suited to my reason, my heart 
and my whole being, and strengthened by the inward 
assent which I feel is withheld from all others? 
The same inward assent makes us sure that we 
are free; no other demonstration is needed. In- 
deed liberty is the most essential characteristic of 
mankind. It is not so much man’s understanding 
that specifically distinguishes him from other ani- 
mals as his being a free agent. But from his freedom 
it follows that the soul must be immortal; for if we 
are free, the soul must be immaterial and essentially 
independent of the necessary laws which rule over 
matter. ‘‘It is especially in the consciousness of 
liberty that the spirituality of the soul is shown; 


252 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


for physics offers a kind of explanation of the 
mechanism of the senses and the formation of ideas; 
but in the power to will, or rather to choose, and 
in the consciousness of this power, we find only 
purely spiritual activities, and nothing therein can 
be explained by the laws of mechanics.’’ More- 
over, belief in another life is inseparable from belief 
in a good and just God. Should I have no other 
proof of the immateriality of the soul than the tri- 
umph of the wicked and the oppression of the just, 
this alone would prevent my doubting it. The 
physical world offers to my contemplation an admir- 
able order, which persuades me of the wisdom of 
its author; can I believe that the moral order, 
whose author is the same, is less perfect, or that it 
does not even exist? Now this order requires 
everyone to be treated according to his deserts. 
Therefore we shall live after death. The union of 
the soul and the body is a forced condition; when 
they cease to be united they both resume their 
natural state. 

From metaphysics to religion the transition is 
imperceptible; : In ‘facty? they icoincide) ands tthe 
‘“Vicaire Savoyard’’ does not separate the one from 
the other. Rousseau’s religion is based on a double 
natural revelation. God has manifested Himself 
to men both in the universe, by His works, and 
within themselves, in their hearts. Christians 
ostensibly mistake this natural religion for atheism 
or irreligion, exactly the opposite doctrine. They 
are unjust, for natural revelation is enough to make 


ROUSSEAU. 263 


us religious. Nothing warns me that any other is 
necessary. How can I be guilty if I serve God 
according to the lights He puts into my mind and 
the feelings with which He inspires my heart? It 
is not on a few stray leaves that we must seek 
God's law, but within the heart of man, where His 
hand deigned to write it. 

If, therefore, Rousseau calls himself a sincere 
Christian, it is on the express condition that he shall 
be allowed to frame his own creed. He is a Chris- 
tian, not as a disciple of priests, but as a disciple 
of) Jesus Christ. The (majesty) of the Scriptures 
astounds him, the holiness of the Gospel speaks to 
his heart. But this same Gospel is full of incred- 
ible things, offensive to reason, and both inconceiv- 
able and inadmissible to every sensible man; 
Rousseau therefore will not believe them. Vainly 
dremwerurced to’) /keepioummeason) under.) One 
who deceives us might say the same. We must 
have reasons wherewith to keep our reason under. 
Moreover, the Gospel is the most sublime of all 
books, but still it is a book, a book unknown to 
more than three-quarters of the world; can I 
believe that a Scythian or an African is less dear to 
our common Father than you or I? The only 
indisputable revelation is the one that is given uni- 
versally to all men. And when Rousseau added 
that all religions are good, so long as God is fitly 
served, and worship is essentially from the heart, 
he could not but expect both Catholic bishops and 
Protestant clergymen to excommunicate him. 


254 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Rousseau’s natural religion, however, stands dis- 
tinctly apart from that of Voltaire and his friends. 
Though it diverges from historical religions, it is 
conscious of its close affinity with them, nor does 
Rousseau fail to appreciate the part they have played 
in the life of mankind. He will not denounce as 
impostors the founders of religion who say they are 
sent by God. He never inveighs against the crafti- 
ness and hypocrisy of priests. He does not cast 
ridicule upon Christian dogma, or scoff and jeer at 
the Bible. He simply says that supernatural 
revelation seems to him unnecessary, and that as 
he sees objections to it, he remains in ‘‘respectful 
doubt.”’ 

But above all—and this is the essential differ- 
ence—Voltaire’s natural religion remained a purely. 
philosophical belief. Voltaire acknowledged the 
existence of God because it was still more difficult 
to deny than to assert it, and especially because a 
retributive and avenging God is necessary. Rous- 
seau agrees to this; but to him religion is also some- 
thing quite different; it is a living element of his 
consciousness, the very foundation of it. ‘*With- 
outiitaithino. real )virtuescanwexisty mogw) hiseiome 
phrase which none of the Encyclopedists would 
have written, or perhaps understood. The cold 
natural religion of the ‘“‘philosophers,’’ a religion 
without faith, could not but seem vain and blas- 
phemous to all believing souls; the natural religion 
of Rousseau, though no more orthodox than that 
of Voltaire, had the power to move many pious 


ROUSSEAU. 255 


souls even to enthusiasm. The philosophers speak 
of religion with indifference, if not with hatred and 
scorn, as men who do without it and at most desire 
it only for others. Rousseau speaks of it impres- 
sively, as a man who practices it, loves it and could 
not live without it. 


As Rousseau’s religion is inseparable from his 
metaphysics, his ethics also is closely linked to 
his religion. It is wholly based on the ‘‘inward 
’* which is called conscience, and which 
dictates to us what we ought to do. If a conflict 


revelation 


arises between it and our reason, conscience is what 
we must unhesitatingly follow. Far from believ- 
ing that whoever judges according to its light is apt 
to err, I believe that it never leads us astray, and 
that it is the light which guides our feeble under- 
standing when we try to go beyond what we can 
conceive. Reason too often deceives us, and we 
have only too good a right to impeach its authority. 
But conscience never deceives us; it is man’s true 
cuide; it is to the soul what instinct is to the body. 
It would be sufficient to guide our steps in inno- 
cence were we always willing to listen to it. 

This is the light that ‘‘lighteth every man that 
cometh into the world.’’ Cast your eyes upon every 
nation, search every history: among so many 
strange and inhuman forms of worship and such 
prodigious variety of manners and characters, you 
will find everywhere the same ideas of justice and 
probity, everywhere the same moral principles, the 


256 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


same notions concerning good and evil. There 
must therefore be in the innermost depths of the 
soul an innate principle of justice and virtue, accord- 
ing to which, in spite of our own maxims, we judge 
our own and others’ actions to be good or bad. 
Accordingly all the morality of our actions lies 
in our own judgment of them. While, according 
to the philosophers, the social utility of our actions 
is the measure of their morality, and according to 
Voltaire social virtues are the only ones there are, 
Rousseau conceives morality to be entirely inward 
and essentially independent of the material content 
of our actions. It was in this way that he was 
enabled, without any hypocrisy, to make a distinc- 
tion between his actions, some of which he himself 
judges to be culpable and base, and his heart, which 
never had any wrong intentions. He makes an 
effort to assign to morality within the conscience 
a sphere of superior dignity where nothing else in 
the universe could rival it. One of the most serious — 
errors of modern civilization, and perhaps the most 
serious of all, consists precisely in having misappre- 
hended the pre-eminence of morality and having 
made it subordinate to knowledge. ‘‘One may 
observe,’’ he says, ‘‘in the arguments of my adver- 
saries such marked enthusiasm for the wonders of 
the understanding, that this other faculty (con- 
science), though infinitely more sublime and more 
capable of exalting and ennobling the soul, never 
counts for anything.’’ Kant, in a well-known 
passage, relates that it was Rousseau’s protest that 


ROUSSEAU. 27, 


opened his eyes. He had thought until then, as 
did all men of his time, that the differences between 
men were chiefly due to their degree of intellectual 
culture. Rousseau taught him a better opinion. 
Any man whose conscience speaks within him is 
worth as much as any other, and the best man— 
that is, the one who is most worthy of admiration 
and respect—is the one who best knows how to 
obey this inner voice. 

But Kant recognizes in man a natural principle 
of wickedness, which he calls radical evil, and 
which is very much like original sin; whereas Rous- 
seau, on the contrary, takes it for granted that man 
is naturally good. According to him this is an 
indisputable maxim, and the fundamental principle 
of all morals. But we must understand just what 
it means. Rousseau does not mean to say that 
man is born with a natural tendency to merciful, 
generous and charitable deeds, and an instinctive 
dislike of all the opposite ones. Nothing could be 
more contrary to the general principles of his phi- 
losophy; for the moral teaching founded on innate 
benevolence and sympathy, then widely current in 
England, supposes man to bea naturally sociable 
being, whereas Rousseau thinks man intended by 
nature to live alone; it measures the moral worth 
of actions by their social value, whereas Rousseau 
places it entirely in the intention. 

When, therefore, Rousseau says that man is 
naturally good, this formula has two distinct mean- 
ings according as we consider man in a state of 


258 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


nature or man in’a state of society. In the state 
of nature man’s only passion is the love of his own 
person; it is useful for the preservation of the 
individual, but is itself indifferent both to good and 
to evil. Suppose—and the supposition is by no 
means absurd—suppose that man had never 
emerged from this condition; he would never have 
had any other relation with his fellow creatures than 
those that are needful for the preservation of the 
species; he would have lived a solitary life, being 
all in all to himself; he would have been guiltless. 
Therefore there is no original perversity in the human 
heart; nor does it now contain a single vice for whose 
presence there we cannot account. It is therefore 
true that man in a state of nature is not wicked. 

But in a state of society reason and language 
are developed, and men become virtuous and 
vicious. How is moral conscience, this infallible 
inward guide, to emerge from the state of xon-wick- 
edness which is characteristic of the original man? 
Rousseau’s solution of this difficulty is as follows: 
The love of his own person (the only passion of | 
man in a state of nature) is not a simple passion. 
It is twofold, like man himself, who is composed of 
a soul and a body. Tending to the welfare of the 
body, it is the love of his own person, the appetite 
of the senses; tending to the welfare of the soul, it 
is the love of order. The latter, developed and 
made active, bears the name of conscience. In 
man in a state of nature—that is to say, solitary— 
this love of order, still aimless, is not more visible 


ROUSSEAU. 259 


than is the stem of the future plant in the seed. 
Conscience is developed and becomes active only as 
man attains knowledge. It is non-existent in a 
man who has never compared objects nor become 
aware of his relations. But when men begin to 
look upon their fellows, they begin to conceive 
ideas of order, fitness and justice; then conscience 
acts. So long as there is less opposition of inter- 
- ests than mutuality of help, men are essentially 
good. This is why Rousseau has so much regard 
forsavages. The moral consciousness, still dormant 
in man in the state of nature, isawake in them, and 
they are not yet corrupted as civilized manis. But 
society, as it develops, multiplies the causes of con- 
flict between contrary interests, and natural good- 
ness—i. e., love of order—is thrust aside by the 
perverse suggestions of egotism. 

Thus, according to Rousseau, man’s original 
goodness is identified with the rational revelation 
of order and justice. It is therefore closely allied 
to the revelation of God, since God is the very 
principle of order. Man is capable of morality in 
the same manner as he is capable of religion. 
Society and intercourse between men bring the 
moral conscience to light, but do not produce it. 
Ideas of order and justice are therefore so far from 
arising out of the development of social life that 
society itself cannot be right and respectable unless 
ideas of order and justice preside over its organiza- 
tion. Political principles will follow naturally from 
moral principles. 


260 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


In a state of nature each individual is in himself 
a perfect and solitary whole. The social state 
makes him part of a larger whole, from which he 
will, as it. were, receive life and being. Man 
becomes a‘‘fractionary unit,’’ whose value resides in 
its relation to the whole, which is the social body. 
A+‘ partial\ and moral \ existence -succeedsmrne 
‘‘physical and independent’’ existence that we 
receive from nature. Thus good social institu- 
tions are those which are best able to change the 
nature of man—that is, to make the community 
his only real self, so that each individual no longer 
believes himself to be a unit, but a part of the 
single whole. 

Our modern societies are very remote from such 
an ideal. Each man there pursues his own private 
interest at the expense of the interests of others, and 
zeal for the public good is assumed merely in order 
to make sure of personal advantages. There is no 
more patriotism, there are no more citizens. But 
things have not always been thus. When we read 
ancient history, we seem to be carried away into 
another universe and among other beings. The 
strong souls of the Romans and Greeks seem to be 
historical exaggerations. Yet they really existed, 
and they were men like ourselves. What, then, 
prevents us from being like them? Our prejudices, 
our base philosophy, our selfish passions. And 
above all, modern societies have had no ‘‘legislat- 
ors.’ Tradition takes the place of reason, and 
acquired rights that of justice. 


ROUSSEAU. 261 


Let us leave history out of consideration, and 
consider society in its essence. It is based on an 
initial pact, agreed to by all, the sole aim of which 
is to make lawful, by means of organization, the 
relations between men; not in order to destroy 
natural equality, but on the contrary to substitute 
moral and lawful equality for whatever physical 
inequality nature may have put between them; so 
that, although they may be unequal in strength or 
genius, they all become equal by agreement and in 
point of rights. To carry out this compact a form 
of association must be found that will defend and 
protect, with the united strength of all, the person 
and possessions of each associate, and in which 
every man, uniting with the others, yet obeys no 
one but himself and remains as free as he was 
beipve wwe) he.) clauses ommnismecompact, vmay \ be 
reduced to one: the total surrender of each associ- 
ate, together with all his rights, to the whole com- 
monwealth. Surrender here does not mean 
subjection. On the contrary, this contract is a 
safeguard for the individual. It is “‘an advan- 
tageous exchange of natural independence for lib- 
Cri 

Whus: society is, coustitutedspyian act (ol tree 
will; by such an act is it also maintained. Con- 
straint here is legitimate only because it is consented 
to even by him who endures it. All men are free, 
all men are equal, in the sense of having an equal 
share in the fundamental contract. And if from 
society we pass on to the state, it follows from the 


262 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


principles laid down that the sovereign is the people 
considered as a whole; for the source of political 
power can evidently be found only in the same gen- 
eral and free will which is the foundation of civil 
society. 

Two contrary tendencies here act upon Rous- 
seau’s thought. One, inspired by the ancients, 
makes the citizen subordinate to the city, the wel- 
fare of which is the supreme aim; it finds expression 
in Rousseau’s enthusiastic admiration for the 
heroes of Plutarch and for the laws of Lacedemon. 
The other, of Christian origin, recognizes in the 
human person an absolute value, and, to use Kant’s 
expression, will have man considered always as an 
end and never asa means. To reconcile these two 
tendencies is what Rousseau seeks in his idea of 
law. Law is the most sublime of all human insti- 
tutions. It is a means of binding men down in 
order to make them free; it re-establishes on a foun- 
dation of right the natural equality of men. It is 
the expression of the will of the sovereign—that is, 
of the people, when this will is universal both in its 
source and in its object. If, in fact, only a part of 
the people made the law, the other part, being 
compelled to obey it, would not be free and the 
social compact would be violated. If the sovereign 
gives orders in view of an individual end, this is no 
longer a law but a decree; it is not an act of sov- 
ereignty but of magistracy. Only when the matter 
decided upon is general, like the will that decides 
upon it, is the act a law. The people which makes 


ROUSSEAU. 263 


it so exercises its sovereignty, which is absolute, 
unalienable, sacred and always rightful; for the gen- 
eral will is the expression of the social compact 
itself, which bases all civil intercourse between men 
upon justice. 

Perfection in a state would therefore consist in 
finding a form of government that would place law 
above men. This was what the ancient legislators 
sought. If a people merely promises to obey a 
family or a prince, it is dissolved by this very act 
and ceases to be a people. From that moment 
there is a master; there is no longer a legitimate 
sovereion. i ),On ‘thet othenmhand a people’ is)'free 
whatever its form of government, so long as the 
governing man is looked upon not as a man but as 
the instrument of the law. In one word, there is 
no liberty without law, or where there is any one 
who is above the laws. 

We cannot here enter into the details of Rous- 
seau’s political views or try to discover how far he 
may have been influenced by reminiscences of the 
constitution of Geneva. It is sufficient to observe 
that the method followed in his politics is the same 
that he used throughout his philosophy. He 
purposely eliminates all that is acquired, in order to 
determine what comes “‘from nature.’’ He there- 
fore puts aside whatever institutions and constitu- 
tions the course of historical events may have 
brought. He supposes man just emerging from the 
“state of nature’’ to live with his fellow-creatures, 
and he asks himself of what sort the conventions 


264 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


agreed upon between them will have to be in order 
to be acceptable and right. He shows that these 
conventions are reducible to a social compact, 
based upon the ‘‘general will,’° and having as its 
expression the law. Subject to the law and to 
that alone, men will enjoy all the advantages of the 
social state without losing thereby either equality 
or liberty; justice then would be respected. Ina 
state where all men should respect the law, the 
expression of their own will, and have nothing to 
apprehend but from it, there would be neither mas-. 
ters nor slaves, neither weak nor powerful; there 
would be only citizens, equal before the law, equal 
in fact, vying with one another in virtue and all 
devoted to the public interest. 

If we are far from this ideal the fault lies with 
our customs, institutions, prejudices, and particu- 
larly with the inequality of fortunes. The rich 
derive infinitely more advantage from the social 
organization than the poor and misuse it in many 
ways. Their vices are the punishment for their 
injustice and for the abject state in which they 
keep those who have nothing. Thus does the 
social order become more and more corrupt, and 
man, the sport of his passions, spoiled by luxury or 
degraded by penury, is as different from what he 
would be in a properly-organized society as from 
the inoffensive being he would be by nature. 


We are thus brought back, after a long but 
inevitable circuit, to the question proposed in the 


ROUSSEAU. 265 


beginning. Knowing what was the state of nature 
which man has left for ever, knowing what his pres- 
ent social state is and what it ought to be, what 
education ought man to receive? What is he to 
be taught, and how? 

As a principle, education should be national and 
puplicny Uhere’: lies *theriessential cause); of ithe 
‘“superhuman grandeur’’ of Sparta. There are 
opened the ways unknown to the moderns, by 
which the ancients brought men to such fortitude 
and patriotic zeal as are unexampled among our- 
selves, but the germs of which are in the hearts of 
allmen. To train citizens is not the work of a day, 
and in order to have men good citizens they must 
be taught when children and accustomed from their 
earliest years to regard themselves only as members 
of the state and to consider their own existence, 
so to speak, as part of that of the state. Evidently 
this can be obtained only by public education 
entirely directed to this object. Public education 
is, therefore, one of the fundamental maxims of 
popular and right government. 

But as nothing is more unlike Sparta than the 
states of the eighteenth century, our ambition shall 
not be to train citizens, and we shall turn from the 
question of public control. We must limit our 
task, which even then will be difficult enough, to 
preventing the social man from being entirely arti- 
ficial. ‘‘Conformity with nature’’ is the motto of 
Rousseau’s pedagogy. In accordance with this 
principle, he advises mothers to suckle their children 


266 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


themselves; in devotion to the same principle he 
waits before speaking of religion to his pupil till 
the latter is able to understand the twofold revela- 
tion of conscience and of the universe. The good 
teacher is he who assumes no other function than to 
present matters in such a way that the lessons of 
experience may be clear, striking and calculated to 
produce a durable impression upon the child’s mind. 
He leaves it to nature to educate by degrees the 
child’s senses, understanding, and conscience; he 
sometimes encourages nature, but never forestalls 
her. Thus the child escapes the many prejudices 
insidiously instilled into his mind by the customary 
methods of education, which are afterwards so 
difficult to eradicate. 

Thus, Emile shall not be a man made by man; 
he shall be one made by Nature. This does not 
involve making him a savage, nor confining him inthe 
depths of the forests; but though absorbed in the 
vortex of society, we ask only that he be'not led 
away by man’s passions or opinions, that he see 
with his own eyes, feel with his own heart, be gov- 
erned by no authority save his own reason. To be 
one’s self: nothing is more rare, difficult and even 
impossible, unless one has been prepared for it from 
childhood. As soon as he is born, man is wrapped 
in swaddling clothes; when dead, he is sewed up in 
a shroud; all his life long he is pinioned by laws, 
manners, and customs, decorum and professional 
obligations. Nobody ever suffered more than did 
Rousseau from social tyranny and hypocrisy; nor 


ROUSSEAU. 267 


did any cry of revolt ever echo so far and so long 
as the cry he uttered against them. 

. Does this mean that he dreams of bringing man 
back to his primitive state? Certainly not, for 
there is a wide difference ‘‘between the natural man 
living in a state of nature, and the natural man liv- 


ing in a state of society.’’ The latter must adapt 
himself to his situation. He is a ‘‘savage destined 
for life in towns.’’ He must therefore receive a 


systematic education and be instructed in all 
accomplishments. Mingling with other men, he 
must learn to live not like them but with them. 
Our race does not like to be half finished. In the 
present state of things, a man left to himself among 
other men would be the most distorted of all. 
Whence it follows that in a well-regulated republic 
the state owes to every man not only the possibility 
of living by his own work, but also such education 
as will make of him a free man and a good citizen. 


No philosopher, and more broadly speaking, no 
writer for a century past has had an influence com- 
parable to that of Rousseau. But the very strength 
and durability of this influence, which is still deeply 
felt in our times, has often prevented him from 
being studied and judged with impartiality. He 
has enthusiastic admirers and intense opponents, 
and both sides have maintained legends often very 
far from true. Thus many people still believe that 
to Rousseau must in an especial manner be 
ascribed the responsibility for the excesses committed 


268 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


during the Revolution, and that the worst terrorists 
were inspired chiefly by his doctrines. But the 
responsibility of Rousseau in this connection is 
neither greater nor less than that of other philos- 
ophers of the eighteenth century, and he even con- 
tributed, as Auguste Comte clearly perceived, to 
bring on the religious reaction which combated 
these very philosophers. The error may have arisen 
from the fact that other French philosophers from 
motives of policy met the temporal power with 
deference and with flattery, whereas Rousseau, 
being a Genevese citizen, boasted of his republican 
feelings. But for all that he is not a revolutionary 
Spirit On the: contrary, ney counscled@ puntics) 
moderation and prudence. Even the unhappy 
Poles, who were on the point of perishing, he 
exhorted not to lay their hands rashly upon their 
national constitution, and he predicts most profound 
misfortunes for the French if they try to change the 
institutions under which they have lived for so 
many centuries. Though the inequalities of for- 
tune are monstrous, though “‘the demon of prop- 
erty pollutes whatever it touches,’’ yet Rousseau 
does not mean to lay hands on vested rights, and it 
is in the future only that he perceives means of 
opposing the ever-increasing social inequality. 

But having said this much, we must acknowl- 
edge that Rousseau’s philosophy was big with con- 
sequences. The opposition between what is natural 
and what is artificial, which is its leading idea, was 
apt to lead minds in love with logic and justice a 


ROUSSEAU. 269 


very great way, if applied to every aspect of human 
life. This opposition was, of course, not discov- 
ered by Rousseau. It had been known ever since 
there had been moralists; and especially since the 
beginning of the eighteenth century the ‘‘good 
savage’ and ‘‘nature’’ had been quite in fashion. 
Rousseau’s achievement lies in making of this 

opposition the principle of a whole moral and social 
doctrine, and of finding therein a means of distin- 
guishing between what is and what ought to be, by 
declaring nature to be good, and evil to have 
sprung from human conventions. Therefore, if the 
evils under which we labor are of social origin, the 
finding of remedies depends upon us. For this it 
is sufficient to ‘‘see with our eyes, to feel with our 
hearts, and to judge with our reason;’’ to free our- 
selves from traditional preconceptions and preju- 
dices. We shall then plan for man, not a chimerical 
return to an impracticable state of nature, but a 
social organization more in conformity with order 
and justice. 

The very foundation principles of the present 
state of society are thus called into question. The 
lawfulness of individual property, the excessive 
inequality of fortunes, the sovereignty of the peo- 
ple, the reciprocal rights and duties of the individ- 
ual and the state, the relation between the church 
and political powers, are so many problems pro- 
posed by Rousseau in such a way that it became 
thenceforth impossible not to take an interest in 
them. He thought the solutions more simple and 


270 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


‘ 


easy than they really are: witness the ‘‘civil reli- 
gion’’ he wished to establish in the name of the 
state, which was often so entirely misunderstood. 
But the thought that led him to ask these questions 
was after all just, and many of his ideas were orig- 
inal and suggestive. In spite of his connection 
with the ‘‘philosophers,’’ he really follows none of 
them. How many others, friends and adversaries, 
have followed him! 


CHUN PREG x 


CONDILLAC. 


IN order to characterise Voltaire, Rousseau, and the 
- Encyclopedists from the point of view of philos- 
ophy, the Germans often use a rather significant 
phrase. They call them philosophers fur die Welt, 
popularisers. They consider them quite as desirous 
of spreading their doctrines among the public as of 
testing them thoroughly. But was there not one 
among them, or very near them, with whom the 
speculative interest stood foremost, a philosopher 
without any qualification and in the strictest sense 
of the word, a thinker, in fact, who joined together 
into a system the body of the philosophical ideas 
which prevailed in the latter half of the eighteenth 
century? 

This demand was met by Abbé de Condillac. He 
was, as he has been called, the ‘‘ philosophers’ phi- 
losopher.’’ Being loved and admired by most of 
them, he was for some time a contributor to the 
Lincyclopedia. He made a long stay in Italy, as 
tutor to the son of the Duke of Parma, and then 
fetuined to) Mrance vandilived’ peacetully ini ithe 
country, apart from literary and philosophical quar- 
rels. He never appeared in the French Academy 
except on the day when he made his inaugural 

271 


272 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


address. Yet he was personally acquainted with 
nearly all the distinguished men of the time, and 
the continual succession of his published works did 
not permit the public to forget him. These works 
were numerous and bulky, from the Essaz sur 
l’ Origine des Connatssances Humatines (1746), in 
which many of the ideas which he was to develop 
later on were already sketched, down to the Langue 
des Calculs, which did not appear until after his 
death. He touched not only upon every phase of 
philosophy proper, but also upon pedagogy, gram- 
mar, history, political economy, and social science, 
the most original portion of all this considerable 
body of work being that on the theory of knowl- 
edge. 

Condillac proposed studying the human mind, 
not as a metaphysician, but as a psychologist and a 
logician; not in order to discover the nature of it, 
but to understand its operations. He wished to 
observe the art with which they are combined, and 
how we are to manage them in order to acquire as 
much intelligence as we are capable of receiving; 
and, therefore, he wished to trace back the origin 
of our ideas, to discover their birth, to follow them 
as far as the limits set them by nature, and in this 
way to “‘determine the extent and boundaries of 
our knowledge and to renovate the human under- 
standing altogether.’’ 

Condillac’s leading idea therefore is derived from 
Locke, but not from Locke only. Hostile as he 
was to innate ideas and Cartesian metaphysics, 


CONDILLAC. Due 


there is in him clearly something of the Cartesian 
spirit. Locke had inquired chiefly into the contents 
of the human mind; Condillac endeavored to con- 
struct a system. He sought an ‘‘unassailable first 
Principle; suficientuto) éexplaingalletherrest! (1 He 
sought it, it is true, in the primitive data of the 
senses, whereas Descartes had found it in the intu- 

ition of thought; but the opposition between their 
- doctrines does not exclude a certain analogy in their 
conceptions of the proper method. 

Condillac never concealed his indebtedness to 
Locke, but his estimate of the philosophy of his 
predecessor varied. In his first work he seems to 
follow him faithfully and to recognise, as Locke 
did, two sources to our ideas: sensation and reflex- 
ion. Later on, when more thoroughly master of 
his own thought, he asserted sensation to be the 
only source of our ideas. He considers Locke to 
have erred in not carrying the analysis far enough. 
Locke did not realise how indispensable it is that 
we should learn how to feel, see, hear, etc. All the 
faculties of the soul he thought to be innate qual- 
ities, and he did not suspect that they might pos- 
sibly originate in sensation itself. He thought that 
we naturally make use of our senses by a sort of 
instinct. Most of the judgments which are min- 
gled with our sensations escaped him. In one 
word, it was in the very name of empiricism that 
Condillac criticised Locke’s empiricism. It is not 
sufficient to reduce the whole of our knowledge to 
sentient knowledge. We must find out how this 


274 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


sentient knowledge is produced, resolve it into its 
elements, and show how these elements can account 
for every form of activity in the human soul. 

Let then our starting point be sensation, isolated 
by analysis and separated—or at least Condillac 
thought it so—from all judgments mingled with it. 
This sensation does not bring us out of ourselves. 
It merely consists in a modification of conscious- 
ness which may be keen or weak, pleasurable or 
painful; but it teaches us nothing of what is out- 
side ourselves, or even whether anything exists 
outside ourselves. This would be true as regards 
all our sensations, if we had not touch. The sen- 
sations of touch have the singular property of sug- 
gesting to us the idea of objects distinct from 
ourselves. They are at the same time feelings and 
ideas: feelings in their relation to the soul which 
they modify, ideas in their connexion with some 
outward thing. Being accustomed to ascribe all 
the sensations of the sense of touch to external 
objects, we fall into like habits with our other 
senses. Thus our sensations become objective; 
they appear to us no longer as modifications of the 
state of the ego, but as qualities of bodies around 
us. They have become ideas. 

Let us now suppose a sensation more vivid than 
others to force itself upon our consciousness so 
powerfully as to throw all others, at least tempo- 
rarily, into the shade: this exclusive sensation will 
be what we call attention. But attention may just 
as well be directed to a past sensation, which recurs 


CONDILLAC. 27% 


again to the mind, astoa present sensation. Mem- 
ory is therefore nothing but a transformed sen- 
sation. We are thus capable of a twofold kind of 
attention, exercised on the one hand by memory, 
on the other by thé! present sensation.: Once 
given a twofold kind of attention, and there results 
comparison; for, attending to two ideas and com- 

paring them are one and the same thing. Now, 
"we cannot compare them without perceiving some 
difference or resemblance between them. To 
perceive such relations is to perform an act of judg- 
ment. Thus does sensation, as it undergoes trans- 
formations, become successively attention, memory, 
comparison, and judgment. Having reached this 
point we have explained the whole human under- 
tanding, which is, in fact, nothing but a collection 
or combination of the operations of the soul. 

By looking upon sensations as representative we 
have observed that all our ideas and the faculties of 
our understanding issue from them. Now if we 
consider them with regard to their pleasurable or 
painful character, we shall behold the birth of all 
the operations usually ascribed to the will. Con- 
dillac lays it down asa principle that there are no 
neutral sensations, but that each of them gives us 
either pleasure or pain, and makes us inclined to 
continue it) or) to ’escapepituay Wereait not iforthis 
property of our sensations, intellectual activity 
would not be aroused,—attention and memory, and 
therefore understanding, would be left undeveloped. 
But nature has made us very sensible of the rela- 


276 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


tive character of the sensations that affect us. We 
cannot be uncomfortable, or less comfortable than 
we have been before, without comparing our pres- 
ent state with the states we have formerly been in; 
and this comparison makes us feel some uneasiness, 
or disquiet, and as soon as there is added to this 
the idea of the object we think likely to contribute 
to our happiness, the action of our faculties is 
determined in the direction of this object. This is 
what we call desire. But from desire spring pas- 
sions: love, hatred, hope, fear, volition. Again, 
all these are but transformed sensations. 

In order to illustrate his theory, Condillac, in 
his 7razté des Sensations, had recourse to the cele- 
brated fiction of an animated statue, shaped inter- 
nally like ourselves, in which he awakens the senses 
in succession, beginning with smell and ending with 
touchsij Next ,we ‘seesthe ifaoultissiot the msout 
springing one after another from the progressive 
transformations of sensation. Similar fictions are 
to be found in Diderot and Buffon, which is suffi- 
cient to prove that they suited the taste of their 
contemporaries and answered their idea of the 
development of the mind. To-day, on the con- 
trary, we are chiefly struck by the artificial and 
arbitrary character of such a supposition. We see 
in it an involuntary confession of the fact that this 
theory of knowledge proceeds in a purely abstract 
Way. 

Yet it would be unfair to condemn their doctrine 
summarily on that account. It is with Condillac, 


CONDILLAC. 279 


as with many other French philosophers of his 
time, between whose minds and his there was evi- 
dent affinity. The solutions he unhesitatingly pro- 
poses are hasty and often rash; the problems he 
sets and the general method he indicates for their 
solution are highly interesting. In his theory of 
transformed sensation, Condillac seeks to account 
for the evolution of the human mind by starting 
microm atirreducible / first factiiy As Buflon\ tried to 
explain the genesis of our solar system, as Rousseau 
sought afterwards to explain the genesis of society, 
Condillac endeavors to trace back the genesis of the 
ifcuiticsw ot the, human wiminesnon 'thecway. he 
notices many interesting psychological facts. He 
shows the part played by the association of ideas, 
which causes us to look upon notions that are really 
acquired and complex as being natural and simple; 
he sees that the association of ideas is a particular 
case of habit. And thus the task of the philoso- 
pher, according to Condillac, consists chiefly in 
dissociating, by means of analysis, the elements 
which habit has joined together so closely that we 
can no longer see where they are welded. 

Analysis, therefore, does not stop where reflexion 
and memory can separate or resolve no further. 
It is true we have a tendency to believe that part 
of our knowledge is born with us. But this is be- 
cause we can remember a time when we did not 
know a given thing only in case we can remember 
having learned it; and in order to be conscious of 
learning we must know something already. How 


278 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE, 


then could we remember having learned to see, 
hear, or touch? And yet it is certain that we have 
learned these things. Consequently, we are driven 
to suppose only that to be innate the acquisition of 
which we cannot otherwise account for. All the 
rest is the product of experience. For instance, if 
some faculty happens to be perfected (as the judg- 
ment of distance by sight), it is therefore acquired; 
it was in its beginning, at a time beyond the reach 
of our memory, a first improvement upon some 
earlier state. Thus Condillac applied to psychology 
Pascal’s well-known saying: ‘‘Nature itself is only 
a first habit, as habit is a second nature. 

From these principles naturally follows the the- 
ory of instinct. We can distinguish two “‘selves’’ in 
every man: the self of habit and the self of reflex- 
ion. ‘‘The self of reflexion is its own master, and 


249 


is conscious of its own operations while performing 
them. It endeavors to know or reach the objects 
which it has in view, and which it may give up for 
other objects when it pleases. The ‘‘self of habit’’ 
acts in a reflex way, so to speak, without the inter- 
vention of consciousness being needed. It touches, 
it sees, and it directs the animal faculties; it guides 
and preserves the body. If we suppress in a 
grown-up man the “‘self of reflexion,’’ the ‘‘self of 
habit’’ which remains suffices for such needs as are 
absolutely necessary for the preservation of the 
animal. Instinct is nothing but habit szzus reflex- 
ion. But, Condillac adds immediately after, it is 
by reflecting that beasts acquire it. As they have 


CONDILLAC. 279 


but few wants, a time soon comes when they have 
done all that reflexion can teach them. They 
daily repeat the same actions, and their habits 
become automatic. 

Yet does not instinct often appear to be innate 
and hereditary?—It does, says Condillac, but it is 
not so; for we find it subject to improvement; now, 
whatever is subject to improvement is acquired. 
All these consequences are most logically inferred 
from Condillac’s own principles. Therefore he had 
a right to answer those who reproached him with 
having drawn his inspiration from the celebrated 
passage in which Buffon represents man awakening 
to life and admiring nature around him: ‘‘ Monsieur 
de Buffon supposes his imaginary man to possess in 
the beginning habits which he ought to have had 
him acquire.’’ To treat as acquired habits faculties 
which appear to be most inherent in our nature, is 
Condillac’s favorite maxim. We all know how it 
prospered in the present century. It was one of 
the ruling principles of psychology, as long as the 
philosophy of association was in favor, in England 
as well as in France. 

The sum of our reflexions over and above our 
habits constitutes our reason. But language is 
necessary for the development of reason. Were 
our thought limited to the representation of indi- 
vidual and concrete objects and unable to form 
abstract and general ideas, it would remain forever 
in arudimentary state. Now such ideas are simply 
denominations and designations of classes. For 


280 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


instance, the idea of ‘‘animal’’ connotes character- 
istics common to man, the lion, the horse, and the 
totality of animals, and these characteristics only. 
This idea I can fix only with the help of the word 
which expresses it. We see therefore how indis- 
pensable words: are: tow us DUP Morothem, athere 
would be no abstract ideas. Had we no abstract 
ideas, we should have neither genera nor species, 
and had we neither genera nor species, we could not 
reason upon anything. To speak, to reason, to 
form general or abstract ideas, are at bottom one 
and the same thing. 

Therefore, to communicate thought is not the 
only function of language. Whenever man thinks, 
even though he should not express his thought out- 
wardly, he speaks. This has been called “‘inward 
language.’’ The ‘‘first advantage’ of language, 
according to Condillac, is to separate thought into 
its elements by means of a series of signs which 


Lye) 


successively represent the same. Whenever I 
reason, all the ideas which constitute this reasoning 
are present in my mind at once. I should not be 
able either to enter upon the reasoning or to bring 
it to a close if the series of judgments of which it is 
composed were not grasped all together by my 
mind. It is not, therefore, by speaking that I 
judge and reason, and these operations of the mind 
necessarily precede discourse. But discourse is a 
real analysis which resolves these complex opera- 
tions and separates their successive stages. It leads 
the mind from one thought to another, and from 


CONDILLAC. 281 


one discovery to another. The more limited the 
faculty of thinking is in one who does not analyse 
his own thoughts, and who, in consequence, does 
not observe all that he does while thinking, the fur- 
ther this faculty must reach in one who does 
analyse his thoughts and observes even their min- 
utest details. 

Consequently, ‘‘the art of reasoning is equiva- 
‘lent to the art of speaking.’’ In this sense well- 
constructed Janguage is akin to well-constructed 
science. Nearly all our errors originate in defects 
or misuse of our language. If we treat abstrac- 
tions as realities, that is, if we mistake for a thing 
actually existing what is merely the designation of 
an assemblage of qualities, is not that a misuse of 
language? How often do we make use of words 
before we have determined their meaning, and even 
without having felt the need of determining it! 
Such confusion in language necessarily implies con- 
fusion in thought. Error thus begets error, and 
language lends itself no less easily to false systems 
than to true analysis. 

There is then but one way of restoring order to 
the faculty of thinking, and that is to forget all 
that we have learned, to return to the origin of our 
ideas, to follow them as they develop, and, as 
Bacon says, to make over the human understand- 
ing. ‘‘Go back to nature,’’ is Condillac’s motto, 
as it was also to be that of Rousseau. Error is our 
own doing. We think and speak erroneously, and 
therefore we blunder; but we have only ourselves 


282 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


to blame. The spirit of the rising generation is 
modelled after that of the preceding one, and erro- 
neous systems are handed down together with the 
languages which are their vehicles. Such are the 
effects of bad education, and education is bad only 
inasmuch as it is contrary to nature. ‘‘ Nature has 
begun all things, and always aright: this truth can- 
not be repeated too often.’’ 

We imagine that languages would be more per- 
fect if they were the work of philosophers, which is 
a serious mistake. The languages of the sciences 
(algebra excepted) have no advantage over other 
languages. According to Condillac, the earliest 
vulgar languages must have been the best fitted for 
reasoning. The development of the ideas and 
faculties of the soul must have been perceptible in 
these languages, in which the first acceptation of 
each word was still known, and in which analogy 
supplied all the others. They were transparent 
things, so to speak, through which one could watch 
the progress of the composition of thought. Their 
syntax was crystallised logic, and the science of the 
mind thus spontaneously revealed itself in the 
structure of language. ‘‘Sound metaphysics began 
before languages, and they owe to it their best qual- 
ities. But this metaphysics. was then not so much 
a science as an instinct. It was nature guiding 
men without their knowing it, and metaphysics 
became a science only after it had ceased to be 
sound.,’’ 


CONDILLAC. 283 


There is therefore, according to Condillac, a 
natural method which is the soul of language and 
science. If we followed it properly, it would lead 
us infallibly to truth. This method he calls ‘‘an- 
"> In his first work, he contented himself 
with saying that analysis consists merely in combin- 
ing and separating our ideas in order to make differ- 
ent comparisons, and thus to discover their mutual 
‘relation and the new ideas to which they may give 
rise. This analysis is ‘‘the secret of discoveries,’ 
because it always takes us back to the origin of 
things. ‘‘It consists,’’ he says again, ‘‘in tracing 
our ideas back to their origin, and in studying their 
development.’’ 

We see even by these definitions that in Con- 
dillac’s thought analysis is not opposed to synthesis 


alysis. 


as decomposition is to composition. It compre- 
hends both processes; there is no reasoning which 
is not a succession of compositions and decomposi- 
tions, and the two operations are inseparable. Yet 
the distinction between analysis and synthesis sub- 
sists in Condillac, but in a special sense. To pro- 
ceed analytically, in his view, is to start from the 
simple, the primitive, and the particular, proceed- 
ing with the help of observation and experience, 
and reproducing the ‘‘development’’ of things. To 
proceed synthetically is to start from general and 
abstract principles, aiming thence to deduce the 
particular and the concrete—an ambitious and faulty 
method which has too often led metaphysicians 
astray. 


284 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


If our minds were powerful enough to perceive 
distinctly, at one glance, a collection of objects or 
all the qualities of an object and the connexions 
between these, we should have no need of analysis. 
Our knowledge would be intuitive and perfect from 
the first. But it is not so; we first have collective 
impressions, and in order to transform these into 
knowledge we must decompose them. We there- 
fore consider one after another the objects which 
form part of a whole, and compare them in order 
to judge of their mutual connexion. When we 
have thus become acquainted with their respective 
positions, we observe in succession all those that fill 
the intervals; we compare each of them with the 
nearest principal object, and thus we determine its 
position. In this way we make out all the objects, | 
the form and situation of which we have discovered, 
and take them all in at one glance. The order 
assigned to them in our mind is no longer succes- 
sive, it has become simultaneous. It is the order 
in which the objects really are situated, and we 
perceive them all at once distinctly; whence this 
specific definition of analysis: “‘To analyse is simply 
to observe in successive order the qualities of an 
object, in order to assign to them in the mind ¢he 
simultaneous order in which they exist.’’ 

But there are many ways of conceiving this suc- 
cessive order that leads to a view, both simultane- 
ous and distinct, of the relations between objects; 
can it be said that any one of these many is the 
pre-eminently analytical order? ‘‘The whole diffi- 


CONDILLAC. 285 


culty,’’ says Condillac, ‘‘consists in finding how to 
begin in order to apprehend ideas in their most 
essential connexion with one another. I assert that 
the only combination by which this is to be found 
is the one which is in accordance with the very 
genesis of things. We must start from the first 
idea which must have produced all others.’’ The 
analytical order is the genetic order. If we knew 
a sufficient number of facts, and had studied them 
closely enough, systems would in some sort be 
self-made, as facts would group themselves of their 
own accord in such an order as to explain one 
another in succession. We should then find that in 
every system there is a first fact, which is the begin- 
ning of it, and which for this reason might be called 
the principle, for principle and beginning are two 
words which have originally the same meaning. 
Any system which does not thus exactly reproduce 
the order of the evolution and composition of facts, 
any system resting on general and abstract princi- 
ples is arbitrary, and consequently false. The 
logical order of science coincides with the order in 
which phenomena are produced in the course of 
time. In one word, in this empirical conception 
of analysis the mind is methodically made subor- 
dinatesto thines.. Vitm@isminethineswthat orders 
inherent, and the function of the mind consists in 
reflecting back this order as faithfully as possible, 
and in being, to use Bacon’s expression, a perfect 
mirror. 

The stumbling-block to empiricism of this kind 


286 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


is generally to be found in mathematics and meta- 
physics. As regards mathematics, Condillac got 
out of the difficulty by reducing every demonstra- 
tion to a succession of equivalent propositions ‘‘the 
identity of which is obvious, 
perceived when we use algebraical signs. Nor was 
metaphysics embarrassing to Condillac, no doubt 
because he took but little care to make it fit in with 
the rest of his system. He proves dogmatically 
the existence of God from the necessity of a first 
cause and from the existence of final causes. We 
again meet in him the argument of the watch and 
the watchmaker, which Voltaire thought decisive. 
Without knowing the essence of the soul and of the 
body, Condillac knows that they are two distinct 
substances. ‘“‘The body may be defined as an. 
extended substance, and the soul as a sentient sub- 
stance. It is sufficient to consider extension and 


>” 


and is more easily 


sensation as two incompatible properties, to be con- 
vinced that the substance of the soul and that of 
the body are two widely different substances, 
Locke was wrong in declaring that it will perhaps 
be forever impossible for us to know whether God 
has not endowed some heap of matter shaped ina 
certain way with the faculty of thinking. For the 
subject that thinks must be one. Nowa heap of 
matter is not one; it isa multitude. The soul thus 
being a different substance from the body, we can- 
not understand how the latter would act upon it. 
The body can be only an occasional cause. We 
must therefore acknowledge that the senses are but 


CONDILLAC. 287 


the occasional source of our knowledge. Free 
access is thus left for idealism. 

There’ is no reason why we should question Con- 
dillac’s sincerity as regards his spiritualistic meta- 
physics; but the very fact of its occupying so small 
a place in his system, and being so loosely con- 
nected with it, is characteristic. It means that 
psychology was beginning to live an independent 
life and trying to rely solely on observation and 
experience. Locke had shown the way; Condil- 
lac advanced farther. True, his solutions are still 
far from perfect. He gives bad definitions of the 
terms he uses, and commentators in our days are 
not of one mind as to what he understands by 
Peacdy Acre. NO 
doubt, when he tries to analyse facts, to discover 


mocisation.. «perceptions: 


their origin, and to trace back their genesis, he 
most often construes them with the aid of factors 
in themselves very complex. Nevertheless he has 
a precise conception of empirical psychology, and 
attempts to study the especial share of each of the 
senses in our knowledge, to analyse habit and 
instinct, to define the function of the association 
of ideas, and, in short, to discover the genesis of 
psychological phenomena. All these points were 
to be taken up again later on, in accordance with a 
more prudent and safer method. But at last the 
questions had been raised, and often with remark- 
able clearness and pertinency, so that the influence 
of Condillac upon French thought was long-lived 
and persistent. To-day it would not be impossible 
to find traces of it in what is taught in our schools. 


CEU Gal Ea ee 


CONDORCET. 


TOWARDS the end of the eighteenth century the 
rapid progress of the sciences presaged a general 
revolution of opinions. Not only had mathematics 
gained by the impulsion given in the early years of 
the century, but also physics, chemistry, and above 
all, the natural or biological sciences, had devel- 
opedy wondertully... (Not stommentionmines breton 
mathematicians, astronomers, physicists, and physi- 
ologists who rivalled Bradley, Bernoulli, Euler, 
Haller, and Franklin, natural history was revived 
by Buffon and Jussieu, who extended it beyond the 
narrow sphere within which specialists had hitherto 
confined it. By laying before the public the great 
questions on natural history they became valuable 
auxiliaries to the “‘philosophers,’’ even when refus- 
ing to be considered as allies. 

This is particularly true of Buffon, who was led 
by the plan of his great work to treat of ‘‘the gen- 
eral theory of the globe we live on, the distribu- 
tion, nature, and formation of the substances it pre- 
sents to our view, the great phenomena which 
occur on its surface or within its bosom; the his- 
tory of man and the laws which preside over his 
development, life, and destruction. 

288 


9? 


CONDORCET. 289 


Among these problems, which Buffon looked upon 
as unquestionably belonging to natural history, 
there are a good many which only a century earlier 
belonged to theology. The change wrought in 
men’s minds was therefore nothing else than a revo- 
lution. Theology was henceforward confined within 
its own domain; even metaphysics was no longer in 
good standing, and little was accepted under that 
name beyond psychological and moral researches, 
or at the utmost a remnant of speculation on the 
existence of God and the nature of the soul. Every- 
where else the scientific spirit asserted its supremacy. 
Constant use was made of positive methods, mathe- 
matical formule and analysis, whenever the phe- 
nomena admitted of them; and the experimental 
processes applied to the study of the genesis and 
formation of animate and inanimate things. To 
analyse, to trace things back to their origins, was 
the very spirit of the age which after having strug- 
eled in the first half of the century had become vic- 
torious in the latter half. 

We find a rather striking picture of this great 
movement in the E/oges, written by Condorcet for 
them vcademy of) ocienceswaltenmnys2)),Condorcet 
was a true son of the age, and a grateful son. An 
enthusiastic admirer of Voltaire, a friend of Turgot 
and D’Alembert, imbued with the ideas of Condil- 
lac, of the Encyclopedists, and even, on some — 
points, of Rousseau, perpetual secretary of the 
Academy, of , Sciences.) andwuintroduced into, ithe 
French Academy with the help of the ‘‘philos- 


290 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


ophers,’’ Condorcet showed even in what he wrote 
before the Revolution what he was to be when 
fully developed in his last and most important 
work, the Esguisse dun Tableau des Progrés de 
LEsprit Humain: a passionate upholder of the 
philosophy of his time, convinced that under its 
guidance humanity was on the way to happiness. 
His faith was so immovable that, when outlawed 
and threatened with death, his last words were to 
be a rapturous hymn to progress as attained by 
means of reason and science. Being an acute- 
minded and remarkably well-informed man, he 
combined with over-sanguine hopes and previsions 
a clear and precise insight into the social evils of 
his time and the means of remedying them. By 
considering the body of his leading ideas we can- 
draw up a summary balance-sheet, so to speak, of 
the philosophy of the eighteenth century in France, 
on the eve of the day when the Revolution was to 
put it to the severe test of facts. 

According to Condorcet the proper object of 
philosophy is man, and, secondarily, the totality of 
the actual in proportion as it concerns man’s devel- 
opment and happiness. Such aconception may be 
narrow or it may be wide; narrow, if we purposely 
exclude all researches in which we do not perceive 
man’s immediate profit; wide, if on the contrary 
we start from the principle that all things in the 
universe are mutually dependent, and that con- 
sequently the science of man is inseparable from 


CONDORCET. 291 


the study of the totality of the actual. Condorcet 
stood half-way between these two extremes. True, 
he had but little inclination for metaphysics. 
Although he would not regard as invariable the 
limits assigned by Locke to the human mind, and 
although he considered the questions of the sim- 
plicity, the immortality, and the liberty of the 
human soul, he did not deviate notably from his 
contemporaries’ point of view. ‘‘True meta- 
physics’’ is to him, as to them, only the application 
of reasoning to the facts observed in reflecting upon 
our sensations, our ideas, and our feelings. 

But on the other hand, he has no narrowly util- 
itarian conception of positive science. He under- 
stands that to seek immediate utility would be to 
destroy the deep source of it. The most useful 
theories practically are composed of propositions 
which were discovered by curiosity alone, and 
which long remained useless, while no one dreamed 
how they could one day cease to be so. The chain 
of truths which spring from each other, and which 
can be successively discovered only with the aid of 
newly-discovered methods, bears no relation to the 
series of truths which are also to become, one after 
another, practically useful. A discovery is not 
made because it is needed, but because it is linked 
to other truths already known, and because we 
become at last strong enough to overleap the space 
between it and us. Let us then be wary lest under 
pretence of reducing the sciences to their lowest 


292 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


terms we should countenance ignorance, the great- 
est bane of mankind and the cause of nearly all 
our misfortunes. 

Conceived in this way, positive science (the 
principles of which Condorcet has indeed no inten- 
tion of examining) will supply a more or less rapid 
but a certain solution of the main problems which 
puzzle mankind. Man.jat) thes present. timevais 
wicked and miserable. But his vices, as well as his 
sufferings, proceed solely from ignorance and error, 
both of which science will dissipate. The true use 
of science, therefore, does not consist in its applica- 
tion to the arts, or at least this is but a small part 
of its utility. Its most important benefit is perhaps 
that it has destroyed prejudices, and rectified, after 
a fashion, our human intelligence. All political . 
and moral errors originate in philosophical errors, 
which in their turn are connected with physical 
errors. There is not a religious system or a piece 
of supernatural extravagance which does not rest 
upon ignorance of natural laws. The progress of 
physical knowledge is all the more fatal to such 
errors because it often destroys them without even 
seeming to attack them. 

Thus do we owe to Greece an eternal debt of 
gratitude. The philosophers of Athens, Miletus, 
Syracuse, and Alexandria have made it possible for 
the inhabitants of modern Europe to excel all 
other men. Had Xerxes been victorious at Salamis, 
we might still be barbarians. That battle is one of 
those events, so rare in history, in which the for- 


CONDORCET. 203 


tune of a single day determines for a long series of 
centuries the destiny of mankind. Fortunately the 
danger incurred in the fifth century B.C. no longer 
threatens us. Barbarism over the entire globe is 
no longer possible. Printing has forever saved 
mankind from such adanger. We shall witness no 
more “‘disastrous ’’ epochs, such as the Middle 
_a\ges were. Science not only frees, but it guaran- 
tees the man it has freed against any aggressive 
return of ignorance and barbarism. 


We are thus brought to the central idea of Con- 
dorcet’s philosophy, which is the idea of progress 
and of indefinite perfectibility. The expression of 
this thought constantly recurs in his works, confi- 
dent, eager, enthusiastic as a hallelujah. Every 
century shall bring with it new discoveries and 
new instruments for discovery; and even as Alad- 
din’s lamp made better those who possessed it and 
made agood use of it, the progress of science shall 
be accompanied by the melioration of mankind. 
‘“My aim,’’ says Condorcet, in the beginning of 
the Esguzsse, ‘‘is to show, by the aid both of rea- 
soning and of facts, that no boundaries have been 
set to the improvement of the human faculties; 
that man’s perfectibility is really indefinite; and 
that his progress, now independent of any opposing 
power, has no limit not coincident with that of the 
globe on which fate has cast him.’’ Even our 
bodily organism will be perfected. With better 
hygiene, more sanitary houses, a more thorough 


294 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


knowledge of the animal frame, the duration of life 
may be increased. Death would be but the result 
of extraordinary accidents, or of the ever later 
destruction of the vital forces. 

The idea thus coming to its full development in 
Condorcet had its roots in the philosophy of the 
whole century. Condorcet merely drew conclu- 
sions from principles which had been universally 
accepted. How often had it been said that every- 
thing is acquired; that everything comes from 
experience; that between the primitive man and 
the man of the present day there is a wide distance, 
and that this distance has been covered by man 
with the help of his own sole powers! But if these 
have been able to lead him up to the point where 
he is now, how far may they not lead him in the > 
future! What may not be expected from a rational 
system of education? MHelvetius dreams that by this 
means we may obtain ‘‘men of genius’’ at will. Con- 
dorcet entertains the hope that all men will thus be 
made wise and benevolent. All ‘‘philosophers’’ 
agreed in saying that nature ““begins aright’’and that 
if man “‘continues badly,’’ the fault is with him, and 
not with her. It is for him, therefore, to amend him- 
self, and to rid himself of his errors, prejudices and 
vices. In one word, this philosophy reduced to 
nothing the factor of innateness, instinct and 
heredity in man. As a necessary consequence, it 
expected everything from education instruction 
and laws, and on his basis looked forward to unlim- 
ited progress. 


CONDORCET. 295 


It is true, we are wanting in information as to the 
prehistoric life of mankind. We can only guess 
the steps by which man, when isolated, or rather 
limited to such association as was necessary for 
reproduction, was able to make that primitive prog- 
ress, the final term of which was articulate language. 
It is only by examining man’s intellectual and moral 
faculties and physical constitution, that-we can con- 
jecture howhe rose to this first stage of civilisation. 
At least the hypothesis thus formed is not contra- 
dicted by facts. Moreover, according to Condorcet 
man is naturally good. Though indifferent to good 
and evil while pursuing his own interest, he has yet a 
natural feeling of pity and benevolence, a necessary 
consequence of his constitution, which inclines him 
towards kindness and justice to his fellow-creatures. 
This feeling always works in the same direction, 
whereas self-interest counsels most various actions, 
so that this feeling of good-will exercises in the end 
a considerable influence upon the conduct of men, 
thus contributing to the progress of civilisation. 

Whence comes it, then, that there are still so 
many wicked and miserable men? Condorcet does 
not deny the fact, but would not have it exagger- 
ated. Humanity has already advanced far beyond 
the animal nature from which originally it could 
scarcely be distinguished. If ignorance and errors 
still occasion a great many evils, it is because noth- 
ing is so difficult as to destroy deeply-rooted preju- 
dices, of which mankind contracted in its childhood 
a vast number, and also because there have long 


296 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


been classes of men whose interest was served by 
maintaining these prejudices, especially priests, of 
whom Condorcet speaks much as Voltaire and 
D’Alembert did. But mankind will eventually be 
cured; it cannot fail to be cured. Superstitions 
and other errors will fade away before the light of 
science. ‘“‘It would be necessary only to enlighten 
people upon their real interests, and a very few 
simple truths would suffice to establish the hap- 
piness of mankind on a solid basis.’’ 


While indulging in most sanguine hopes for the 
future progress of the sciences, it was difficult for 
Condorcet to foretell in what this progress would 
consist, and he was wise enough not to attempt 
it. He contented himself with pointing out the 
general order of their evolution, according to which 
the simpler the facts to be studied, the speedier and 
surer will be the progress of the science. Thus 
astronomy was created first, and physiology last. 
Beyond physiology, he had a glimpse of sociology. 
Social phenomena were among his most habitual 
themes for reflexion. He understood that these 
phenomena, like all others, must be subjected to 
laws, the knowledge of which depended upon the 
observation of facts, and that this knowledge might 
become a science which like all others would make 
prophetic predictions possible. ‘‘The only foun- 
dation of belief in the natural sciences is the idea 
that the general laws, whether known or unknown, 
which regulate all phenomena in the universe, are 


a ee Pal 


— 


CONDORCET. 207 


necessary and unchanging. Wherefore should this 
principle be less true as regards the development of 
man’s moral and intellectual faculties than as regards 
other natural operations?’’ Condorcet even dimly 
foresaw, but without dwelling upon it, the distinc- 
tion between social statics and dynamics, and the 
preponderating importance of dynamics. On the 
_other hand, he took up the bold idea of applying 
mathematical analysis to social phenomena. He 
thought he had thus found a most effective and 
fruitful use of the theory of probabilities. 

Together with social science, and with its aid, 
social art, which is the supreme object of philos- 
ophers, is to be developed and devoted to making 
all men free, reasonable, and happy. First free, 
for the better enlightened men are, the freer they 
are. This proposition, Condorcet says, has the 
value of an axiom. According to the natural order 
of things ‘‘political enlightenment is the immediate 
sequence of the: progresss ormunes sciences. s +) But 
this truth must be published cautiously, and Con- 
dorcet highly praises the philosophers for having 
quieted as much as_ possible the suspicions of 
princes. let ust note wnersays.,, «challenge the 
oppressors to league themselves together against 
reason; let us carefully conceal from them the close 
and inevitable connexion between enlightenment 
and liberty; let us not teach them beforehand that 
a nation free from prejudice soon becomes a free 
nation.’’ Thethrone must not know that its inter- 
est lies in supporting the altar. 


298 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Again, in order that the progress of enlighten- 
ment may produce favorable results, the progress 
must be general, and all men must share it. Con- 
dorcet here ventures to contradict his master, Vol- 
taire. The latter was wrong, he says, in speaking 
scornfully of ‘‘the mob,’’ and in thinking with his 
friend Frederick II. that ‘‘the stupid populace’’ 
has no need of enlightenment. Too long has intel- 
lectual and moral culture been exclusively the priv- 
ilege of a minority, while the ignorant mass lies 
sunk in ignorance and prejudices. In any well- 
governed country the people will have time to 
acquire instruction and the few needed ideas to 
guide them according to reason. There must be 
public education, extending to all classes of society, 
offering to all children not so mucha systematic 
course of instruction as the first elements of every 
science useful to all men, and giving to every one a 
survey of the various objects of knowledge. Soci- 
ety is interested in this, for in this way no man born 
to genius can be lost to society, and moreover it 
would be insured against the danger of seeing new 
prejudices constantly succeeding the old ones. But 
above all such an education would make men rea- 
sonable and happy by acquainting them with their 
rights, duties, and interests. 

Trained by science and by the use of his rea- 
son, man learns that ‘‘his rights are written down 
in the book of nature.’’ It was formerly to sacred 
books, to the bulls of the popes, to the rescripts of 
kings, to collections of customs, to the annals of 


CONDORCET. 299 


the church that men used to turn for maxims and 
examples from which they might draw conclusions. 
It is now well known, and has been declared by the 
American republic and by France first in the Old 
World, that reason is sufficient to show us the 
rights of man. These are all derived from the very 
simple maxim that, given two sentient beings, cre- 
ated equal by nature, it is against the natural order 
that one of them should seek his own happiness at 
the expense of the other. The question now be- 
comes to establish on principles derived from reason 
alone, a system of laws insuring to man the enjoy- 
ment of the advantages procured for him by the 
social state, while taking from him as few of his 
natural rights as possible. 

Now most men are in fact far from enjoying 
their natural rights. Even where there are no 
longer any special privileges, where the equality of 
men is recognised before the law, the extreme dis- 
parity of fortunes very often makes the possession 
of natural rights a vain show. Of what use is the 
nominal enjoyment of these rights to a poor wretch 
dying of misery and starvation? Therefore we 
must found pension funds for old people and annu- 
ities for widows and orphans. A certain capital 
will be supplied to the young when old enough to 
work for themselves; popular credit societies will 
be established. These and many other institutions 
of the same kind, which may be formed in the name 
of society and become one of its greatest benefits, 
may also be the results of private associations. 


300 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Penal laws will cease to be a revolting anachron- 
ism in a society the manners of which are refined. 
Torture will disappear. The death penalty will be 
abolished. Natural children will be treated with 
humanity and justice; girl-mothers will not be 
driven to despair and crime; and, finally, we shall 
have a new jurisprudence, freed from the idle trash 
with which the prejudices of a score of nations and 
a score of centuries have loaded our law. 

All these improvements will take place as edu- 
cation, guided by the social art, makes men better 
acquainted with their real interests. The improve- 
ment of laws, attending upon that of sciences, will 
bring together and often identify the private inter- 
ests of each man with the common interests of all. 
There is no reason why the opposition between > 
these interests, though now a violent one, should 
last forever. Man is naturally good. It is suff- 
cient to impart to him gentle and pure morals, to 
enlighten his conscience, to prevent the laws from 
creating artificial opposition between the direct 
interests of individuals, but to cause them to develop 
and strengthen man’s natural inclination to make 
his own happiness dependent on the happiness of 
others, and lastly, to prompt him to feel towards 
mean, unjust, or cruel deeds a somewhat organic 
and reflex dislike. Reason must form laws, and 
laws must modify men’s manners. 

Men will soon understand that national interests 
are no more incompatible with one another than 


CONDORCET. 301 


private interests are. According to Condorcet there 
cannot exist, especially in a large empire, any truly 
national interest that is not merged in the general 
interest of mankind. All the causes which produce, 
embitter, and perpetuate national feuds will gradu- 
ally vanish. Wars between nations, like murders, 
will be numbered among the extraordinary atroci- 
ties, humiliating and revolting to nature. 

One may recognise here the dream of universal 
fraternity, the humane optimism in which the 
eighteenth century at its close used to indulge. But 
such optimism did not make philosophers blind to 
the present state of misery, and their openly avowed 
hopes were one of their forms of protest against 
the established code of morals andlaws. This phi- 
losophy, as we have already seen, was above all an 
offensive weapon. The war it waged is far from 
closed; thence the discrepancy among the opinions 
concerning it even at the present day. According 
to some it is a poor, narrow, paltry philosophy. It 
understood nothing about the history of mankind, 
and was a stranger to all religious feeling, insensible 
to the poetry of nature, intoxicated with the prog- 
ress of science, and practically leading to frightful 
excesses. According to others it is the philosophy 
of a great age; it drew conclusions from the prin- 
ciples discovered or rehabilitated by the Renais- 
sance and the Reformation; it restored to man the 
consciousness of his individual dignity and respon- 
sibility; it was passionately fond of justice and 


302 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


humanity; and, though it was wrong in believing 
problems too simple, and in accepting too hasty 
solutions, at least it disposed once for all of the 
former social conception of inequality among men, 
and with the subjection of reason to theology. A 
weighty case which has not yet been completely 
settled ! 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE IDEOLOGISTS—THE TRADITIONALISTS. 


CONDORCET belonged to a group of philoso- 
phers who, under the Republic, the Consulate and 
the Empire, upheld the spirit and methods of the 
eighteenth century, and who gave themselves the 
name of ‘‘Ideologists.’’ Their doctrine has generally 
been judged with excessive severity. It has been 
represented as the tail of Condillacism; this philoso- 
phy, it is said, already narrow as it came from its 
founder, became more and more thin and poor in 
the hands of the Ideologists, until it was reduced to 
a mere theory of knowledge, semi-psychological and 
semi-logical, devoid of originality and with no hold 
on men’s minds. This picture is very much exag- 
gerated; to be convinced of this, we need only 
remember how strong was Napoleon’s anxiety to 
stop the mouths of ‘‘ those ideologists.’’ He would 
not have taken the trouble, had their philosophy 
really been so insignificant. 

According to Destutt de Tracy, who is, together 
with Cabanis,the most noteworthy of the Ideologists, 
we cannot know the beginning of anything, neither 
that of men, nor that of the universe. Questions 
of origin are unanswerable. What was formerly 
called metaphysics is the most shallow thing in the 

303 


304 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


world. Researches on the nature of the soul or on 
the first principle of things are inevitably vain. 
Whether we examine the phenomena within or with- 
out ourselves, all that we may hope to accomplish 
is to acquire a deeper and deeper knowledge of the 
laws of nature. The proper object of philosophy, or 
ideology, is to study what takes place in us when we 
think, speak, or reason. It then becomes the basis 
of ethics, economics, legislation and the other moral 
sciences. 

Ideology recognizes as its founder Condillac, who 
first clearly propounded the problem of the origin 
of our knowledge, and pointed out a suitable method 
for its solution. But from the outset Destutt de 
Tracy differs with him. He does not admit that 
attention is a mere transformed sensation, and con- 
sequently rejects the whole genesis of understand- 
ing and will as conceived by Condillac. He pro- 
pounds another theory according to which there are 
four faculties of the soul, and only four: sensibility, 
memory, judgment and volition, which he calls four 
irreducible ‘‘modes of sensation.’’ | 

Condillac ascribed to the active sense of touch 
the acquisition of the idea of something outside our- 
selves. De Tracy shows the explanation to be insuffi- 
cient, and felicitously completes it: ‘‘When a being 
organized so as to will and feel, feels within him 
volition and action, and at the same time resistance 
against this action willed and felt by him, he is as- 
sured of his own existence, and of the existence of 
something that is not himself. Action willed and 


THE IDEOLOGISTS. 305 


felt on the one hand, and resistance on the other 
hand—these are the links between our se/f and 
other beings, between beings that feel and beings 
that are felt.’’ Any other sensation than this, com- 
mencing or terminating independently of our will, 
would be powerless to give us this idea. De Tracy is 
here nearer to Maine de Biran than to Condillac. In 
a similar way, in his Logigue, Tracy does not admit, 
with Condillac, that our judgments are equations, 
that our reasonings are series of equations, and that 
ideas compared in a judgment or in right reasoning 
are zdentical. We must say, on the contrary, that 
equations are a kind of judgment; and even in 
equations, the ideas compared together are not 
zdentical but eguivalent. 

De Tracy is a clear, sincere, and vigorous mind, 
holding firmly to the principles of the eighteenth 
century philosophy, and not shrinking from any con- 
sequences of these principles. The French Revolu- 
tion, to which he nearly fell a victim, did not shake 
his convictions. He will not admit that a true 
doctrine may be immoral or dangerous for society, 
and claims entire liberty for philosophical research. 
Even morality is concerned in this liberty. For 
moral principles are not innate, whatever Voltaire 
may have said to the contrary. It is a very ancient 
and absurd error to believe that moral principles are 
in some sort injected into our heads, and the same 
in every head, and to be led by this dream to attrib- 
ute to them amore celestial origin than to all other 
ideas which exist in our understanding. Moral 


306 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


science is of our own making, as all others are, and 
similarly built up of the results of our experience 
and reflection. But it issubordinate toa knowledge 
of human nature, and the latter in its turn ‘‘depends 
upon the state of physics, of which it is buta 
part.’ So, though for his own part he made use 
of a purely psychological method, De Tracy did not, 
in theory, separate the moral from the natural 
sciences. Accordingly he said that ideology was a 
part of zodlogy, or of animal physics, and dedicated 
his Logigue to his friend Cabanis, the celebrated 
author of the Rapports du Physique et du Moral. 
Cabanis has been looked upon as a materialist, 
but without sufficient reason, for he purposely 
abstains from expressing any metaphysical opinion. 
Like De Tracy he declares that first causes are not 
an object of science, not even an object of doubt, 
and that on this point we are in a state of hopeless 
ignorance. But from an experimental point of 
view he ascertains that the brain is to thought 
what the stomach is to digestion. As impressions 
reach the brain they excite it to activity, just as 
food, when it enters the stomach, stimulates in it a 
secretion of the gastric-juice. The proper function 
of the one is to perceive each particular impression, 
to attach signs to it, to combine and compare 
together the different impressions, and to form 
therefrom judgments and determinations, just as 
the function of the other is to act upon nutritious 
substances. From this Cabanis derives the notorious 
formula: ‘‘The brain in some sort digests impres- 


THE IDEOLOGISTS. 307 


sions; it produces an organic secretion of thought;’’ 
a comparison which may be regarded as more or 
less happy, but which is meant to be nothing but a 
comparison. . 

By dint of psychological abstraction, it seemed 
to have been forgotten that man is, to use Bossuet’s 
words, a natural whole, composed of a soul and 
_a body. Cabanis comes back to this idea. Being 
at the same time a physician and a psychologist, he 
shows, by the aid of several hundred observations 
made upon man, both in health and sickness, the 
reciprocal action of the body upon the mind and of 
the mind upon the body. The physiology of 
Cabanis is now quite out of date, but few have 
spoken better than he of the influence of age, sex, 
temperament, illness, diet, climate on the forma- 
tion of ideas and of moral affections. 

If there are so many points of contact between 
the physical and the moral being, it is because they 
rest on a common basis. The operations called 
‘‘moral,’’ as well as the physical ones, result 
directly from the action either of certain particular 
organs or of the whole of the living system. All 
phenomena pertaining to intelligence and will take 
their rise in the primitive or accidental state of the 
organism as well as the other vital functions. The 
diversity of functions is no reason why principles 
should be multiplied. As we do not assume a 
special principle for digestion, another for the cir- 
culation of the blood, another for respiration, etc., 
neither must we assume one for the intellectual 


308 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


functions. Iv is sufficient to recognize that all func- 
tions, whether moral or physical, originate in sensi- 
bility, a property common to all living organisms. 
Indeed, physical sensibility is on the one hand the 
utmost limit that we reach in the study of the phe- 
nomena of life, and in the methodical investigation 
of their connection; and it is also on the other 
hand the most general principle discovered by the 
analysis of the intellectual faculties and the affec- 
tions of the soul. Thus the physical and the moral 
life meet at their source, or rather, the moral being 
is but the physical being considered from certain 
special points of view. The only principle of the 
phenomena of animal existence is, therefore, the 
power of sensation. But what is the cause of this” 
power, what is its essence? Philosophers will not 
ask this question. Sensibility is the universal fact 
in living nature. We can not get beyond it. 
When Cabanis finds in his path any of Con- 
dillac’s theories that are incompatible with the 
results of his own researches, he does not hesitate 
to reject them. Thus, Condillac maintained that 
there are no psychological phenomena unperceived 
by consciousness. Nothing, says Cabanis, is more 
contrary to experience. Although it is a fact that 
the consciousness of impressions always implies the 
existence and action of sensibility, the latter is, 
nevertheless, alive in many parts where the se/f 
nowise perceives its presence; it nevertheless de- 
termines a great many important and regular func- 
tions, though the se/f is not at all aware of its 


THE IDEOLOGISTS. 309 


action. There may be sensibility without sensation, 
i. e., without an impression perceived. 

Condillac said everything is acquired, even in- 
stinct. The paradox was bold, and Joseph de 
Maistre did not fail to laugh at it. Cabanis looks 
upon instinct as innate, and infers therefrom that 
external sensations are not, as Condillac declared, 
the sole principle of all mental life. Moral ideas 
and determinations do not depend solely upon what 
are called sensations, that is, distinct impressions 
received by the organs of the senses properly so 
called. The impressions resulting from the func- 
tions of several internal organs contribute to them 
more or less, and, in certain cases, appear to be the 


sole cause of their production. There is within us , 


a whole system of inclinations and determinations 
formed by impressions almost totally unconnected 
with those of the external world; and these inclina- 
tions “necessarily influence our way of considering 
objects, the direction of our researches concerning 
themarand) oursjudomenturofmthem wilt) is not, 
therefore, the external world alone that shapes 
the thoughts and desires of the ‘‘ se/f’’; it is rather 
the latter, pre-formed by instinct and by specific 
dispositions, that builds for itself an external world 
with the elements of reality that interest it. Like- 
wise, spontaneous activity precedes in us reflective 
activity. We are first determined to act without 
being aware of the means we employ, and often 
without even having conceived a precise idea of the 
end we desire to attain. 


# 


310 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


The consideration of instinct naturally leads to 
that of final causes. Cabanis admires the mutual 
dependency of all parts in living bodies, and is not 
surprised that observers of nature ‘‘who were not 
close thinkers’’ should have been deeply affected by 
it. But in truth, these marvels are inseparable 
from the very organization of animals. One may 
recognize them, and even extol them with all the 
magnificence of language, without being forced to 
admit in the causes anything that does not belong 


1M) 


to the necessary conditions of every existence. 
What seems to us finality is merely the result of 
natural laws, inasmuch as they make possible the 
appearance, propagation and permanence of living 
species; if this ordering of parts, which we think 
wonderful and intentional, should cease to exist, 
living beings would disappear. Sothat, even when 
the naturalist has recourse to final causes, the phi- 
losopher cannot without imprudence seek in them 
an argument in favor of beliefs concerning the 
author of nature. But such reserve must be very 
difficult to adhere to, since Cabanis, who recommends 
it, does not himself observe it. In his Lettre a 
Fraurtel sur les Causes Premtéres, published after his 
death, Cabanis inclines toward a conception of 
nature akin to that of the Stoics, in which ideas of 
order and finality occupy a predominant place. 
Cabanis has been widely read, and still deserves 
to be, were it only for the abundance and the choice 
of the facts he brought together, the justness of 
most of his reflections, and the pleasing elegance of 


THE TRADITIONALISTS. 31! 


his style. His influence extended not only to 
philosophers like Maine de Biran, Auguste Comte, 
H. Taine, but also to novelists like Stendhal and his 
successors. Yet he has not escaped the disrepute 
which overtook ideology. Metaphysics, reviving, 
threw into the shade those philosophers who had 
thought it finally banished. The Ideologists had 
followed the way opened by the Encyclopedists 
and the scientific men of the eighteenth century, 
and were the first victims of a reaction which aimed 
higher than at them. 


The name given to the traditionalist philosophers 
exactly indicates the position they assumed over 
against the eighteenth century. Toa body of doc- 
trines, the common characteristic of which was that 
they were based on the independent effort of individ- 
ual reason, they opposed a doctrine which discov- 
ered truth in tradition, and particularly in tradition 
that is universally found among men, viz.: religious 
tradition. Shall we say that this is not a philosoph- 
ical doctrine, but the very negative of philosophy? 
Were this true, such a negation was at least grounded 
on philosophical reasons, that is to say, on a 
criticism of the opposing principles. No doubt the 
Traditionalists thought that they, as Christians, pos- 
sessed the truth at the outset, before any discus- 
sion. But they nevertheless meant to combat the 
‘‘philosophers’’ on their own ground, to unmask 
their sophistries, to refute their errors, and finally 
to compel them, by sheer force of demonstration, 


312 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


to confess the weakness of individual reason. De : 
Bonald, De Maistre, the two most illustrious repre- 
sentatives of this school, were looked upon by all 
their contemporaries as formidable logicians, and 
in the judgment of Auguste Comte, for instance, De 
Maistre dealt the philosophy of the eighteenth 
century some most telling blows. 

Wherever this philosophy had seen ‘‘nature,’’ De 
Bonald sees ‘‘God.’’ Nature to him is a vague and 
equivocal expression, and can not stand for a real 
cause. Nature is rather an effect, a system of 
effects, a set of laws; but these laws imply a legisla- 
tor who founded the system and who maintains it. 
The universe is unintelligible to him without a 
Creator who is at the same time a Providence. 
Language, likewise, was attributed by the eighteenth 
century philosophers (Rousseau excepted) to the 
invention of men. Thisalsoisan untenable theory, 
all the more absurd as these philosophers under- 
stood perfectly well that language is inseparable 
from thought and social life. Men never could have 
invented language, had they not already lived in 
society; and they never could have lived in scciety, 
had they not already possessed language. You can 
not, De Bonald claims, get out of this circle, unless 
you admit this marvel (for language is no less 
marvelous than the organism of living beings), 
to be a gift from the Creator to rational beings. 
And it is the same with all similar questions. The 
philosophy of the eighteenth century looks back in 
the series of causes up to a certain point, where it 


THE TRADITIONALISTS. eihie’ 


stops, thinking it has reached the fundamental 
principle; but this so-called principle explains noth- 
ing, and must in its turn be explained. Religion 
alone, which is a deeper sort of philosophy, attains 
to the first principle on which all things depend. 

Truth is therefore to be found in tradition. The 
pride of individual reason, which has despised this 
tradition, inevitably leads to error. Even sucha 
well-balanced mind as that of Montesquieu did not 
escape it. All his theory of constitutions is false. 
Modern philosophy, says De Bonald, is the wisdom 
of man and not that of society; that is to say, the 
wisdom of the depraved man and not that of the 
social or perfect man; it tries to make the intelligent 
man turn to natural religion. But this philosoph- 
ical religion, the pure worship of Divinity, of the 
Great Being, of the Being of Beings, in a word, 
theism, infallibly leads to atheism, as the philosoph- 
ical government of political societies, the division 
and balance of power in the state, or representative 
government, inevitably leads to anarchy. 

It is a mistake for man to assume the task of 
constituting society or establishing government. 
His intervention can only spoil the work of Provi- 
dence. It is society, on the contrary, which, being 
founded on necessary relations, that is, relations 
established by God, constitutes the individual man, 
and dictates the rules that must govern his con- 
duct. 

The same leading ideas are expressed by Joseph 
de Maistre, but with such eloquence and passion as 


314 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


to have made them wonderfully impressive. The 
eighteenth century, according to him, is one of the 
most shameful epochs in the history of the human 
mind. Its philosophy is a most degrading and fatal 
system. It has robbed reason of her wings and made 
her grovel like a filthy reptile; it has dried up the 
divine source of poetry and eloquence, and caused 
all the moral sciences to perish. And why did it 
produce these frightful effects? Because this whole 
philosophy was nothing but a veritable system of 
practical atheism. To pronounce the name of God in 
its presence would throw it into convulsions. It was 
the work of the ‘‘Evil One,’’ it was ‘‘the denying 
spirit,’’ like Mephistopheles. Moreover, according 
to De Maistre, the eighteenth century merely applied 
to politics the principles of the Reformation, or, as 
he says, of the ‘‘rebels’’ of the sixteenth century. 
The sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries might 
be called the premises of the eighteenth, which in 
fact was but the conclusion of the two preceding 


ones. ‘‘The human mind could not suddenly have 
risen to such a pitch of audacity as we have wit- 
nessed. ... Philosophism could not have been 


erected except on the broad foundation of the 
Reformation.’’ | 

The hostility of De Maistre is clear-sighted, and 
he struck home when he pointed out the inconsist- 
ency of those philosophers who praised so highly 
the experimental method, yet had not patience 
enough to practice it, so anxious were they to sub- 
stitute something for the traditions they were pull- 


THE TRADITIONALISTS. 315 


ing down. ‘‘It was a singularly ridiculous trait of 
the eighteenth century to judge of everything 
according to abstract rules, without regard to 
experience; and it is the more strikingly ridiculous 
because this very century at the same time kept 
continually sparring at all philosophers who took 
abstract principles as their starting point, instead of 
first looking for them in the light of experience.’’ 
Every one of the ‘‘philosophers’’ in turn is roughly 
handled by De Maistre. I do not speak of Vol- 
taire, against whom he feels a sort of fury which 
almost overpowers him; but Locke, whom the 
philosophers all hailed as master, is no longer ‘‘the 
wise Locke,’’ the ‘‘greatest of all philosophers since 
Plato;’’ he is a short-sighted, narrow-minded man, 
not wicked, but simple, shallow, spiritless, a poor 
philosopher, a mere pigmy beside the ‘‘Christian 
Plato,’’ that is, Malebranche, who has been sacri- 
ficed to him. The infatuation of which he has 
been the object is simply ludicrous. The same is 
said of Bacon, whom De Maistre honors with a 
special indictment. His dislike is no less for Con- 
dillac, ‘‘who sees the truth perfectly well, but who 
had rather die than confess it;’’ an odious writer, 
perhaps the one of all the philosophers of the 
eighteenth century who was most on his guard 
against his own conscience. 

These philosophers tried to persuade individual 
reason that it was the sovereign judge of what is 
false and what is true, that the progress of mankind 
depended upon that of the sciences, and that ignor- 


316 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


ance and superstition were the causes of moral and 
social evil. De Maistre denies all this as confidently 
as they asserted it. He disparages reason as much 
as they exalted it. Reason, he declares, stands 
manifestly convicted of incompetence asa guide for 
men, for few men are ina fit state to reason well, 
and none can reason well on all subjects; so that, 
generally speaking, it is advisable to begin with 
authority. ‘‘I do not mean to insult reason,’’ says 
De Maistre; ‘‘I have infinite respect for it in spite 
of all the wrong it has done us; but whenever it 
stands in opposition to common sense, we must put 
And, indeed, the general 
feeling of all men forms ‘‘a system of intuitive 
truths’’ against which the sophistries of reason can- 


, 


it from us like poison.’ 


not prevail. It is a ‘“‘mysterious instinct’? which 
we are bound to obey. This instinct often guesses 
aright, even in the natural sciences; it is almost 
infallible in dealing with rational philosophy, ethics, 
metaphysics, and natural theology, ‘‘and it is 
infinitely worthy of the supreme wisdom, which 
created and regulated all things, to have enabled 
man to dispense with science in all that most greatly 
concerns him.’’ 

Science! that is the source from which proceed 
dangerous extravagancies, rash self-assumption and 
proud blasphemy. Not that it is bad in itself; but 
it must be pursued only under certain indispensable 
conditions. For want of this precaution the more 
things our mind knows the more guilty it may be. 
Bacon is quite ‘‘ludicrous’’ when he is provoked 


THE TRADITIONALISTS. ay 


at scholasticism and theology. Teach young people 
physics and chemistry before having imbued them 
with religion and morality, and you will see the 
result. There lurks in science, when it is not 
entirely subordinate to ‘‘national dogmas,’’ a some- 
thing which tends to debase man and to make him 
a useless or bad citizen. 

Science is not and ought not to be the chief 
aim of the intelligence. Whence come, for in- 
stance, the multiplied complaints, and, one might 
say, revilings against Providence? From this great 
phalanx of men called scientists, whom we have 
not in this century been able to keep in their 
proper place, which is a subordinate one. In 
former times there were very few men of science, 
and among these few only a very small number 
were impious. Now they are legion, and the excep- 
tion has become the rule. They have usurped a 
boundless influence. Yet it is not for science to 
guide men. Nothing really essential is entrusted 
toit. Science is an intellectual pastime, and in the 
material order of things it is capable of useful appli- 
cations; but there its domain ends. ‘“‘It belongs 
to the prelates, the nobles, the higher officers of the 
state to be the depositories and guardians of saving 
truths, to teach nations what is wrong and what is 
right, what is true and what is false, in the moral 
and spiritual worlds. Others have no right to 
reason on such matters. They have the natural 
sciences to divert themselves with; of what can they 
complain? As to the man who speaks or writes in 


318 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE, 


order to take away from the people a national 
dogma, he ought to be hanged as one who robs the 
hearth and home. 

It would be difficult to carry the reaction against 
the favorite ideas of the eighteenth century further. 
Yet De Maistre is in this not merely obeying the 
desire to restore the rights of tradition and religious 
authority and to abate the chimerical and sinful 
pretensions of such men as Helvetius and Con- 
dorcet. He founds his opinion also on a conception 
of the universe and its relation to God, which leaves 
to positive science but limited scope and range. 
The world of visible phenomena and of the laws 
which regulate them is a world of appearance and 
illusion which hides from our sight the world of true 
and essential reality. Therefore, the closer our 
science grasps phenomena and their laws, the far- 
ther it is, with all its air of truth, from being really 
true; or, at least, it is only imperfectly and com- 
paratively true, like the appearances which are 
its object. The religious man who sees God 
everywhere in the world; the poet, moved by the 
beauty of the universe and by the tragic character 
of human destiny; even the metaphysician who 
discovers the invisible beneath the visible, are all 
three infinitely nearer to truth, harmony and the 
eternal substance than the man of science measur- 
ing and weighing atoms in his laboratory. 

Consequently De Maistre has a constant ten- 
dency to explain nothing by secondary causes, and 
always to appeal to mystery and God’s unfathom- 


THE TRADITIONALISTS. 319 


able designs. He gives an admirable description 
of the struggle for life, and of the competition be- 
tween living species; he sees clearly that war is a 
particular phase of this great fact; but instead of 
seeking the cause, as Diderot or Darwin did, in 
the general laws of nature, he sees in it simply a 
“‘divine’’ law, and founds thereupon a whole the- 
ory of sacrifice. ‘‘The earth, continually deluged 
with blood, is only an immense altar, on which all 
that has life must be slain, and that without end 
or measure or rest, till the end of all things, till 
the death of death.’’ He likewise insists upon the 
mutual responsibility of all the members of one 
family, and of all the members of mankind, and upon 
the reversibility of penalties; but instead of seek- 
ing the origin of these beliefs in the constitution 
and religion of primitive societies, he sees here again 
a “‘divine’’ law. The words superstition and 
prejudice are to him meaningless. God's directing 
hand is everywhere in the world; if we do not see 
it, it is because we refuse to do so. A family is 
thought to be royal because it reigns; whereas, on 
the contrary, it reigns because it is royal. 

We shall not set forth here De Maistre’s ideas 
on the spiritual sovereignty of the pope, the sig- 
nificance of the French Revolution, and the con- 
stitution best suited for modern nations. We must 
lose no time in returning to more properly philo- 
sophical doctrines. But more than once, in these 
doctrines, shall we observe unquestionable traces 
which prove the influence of the chief Traditional- 


320 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


ists, De Maistre, De Bonald, Ballanche and Lamen. 
nais. De Maistre, especially, made upon many 
minds a deep and lasting impression. Even if 
Auguste Comte had not formally acknowledged the 
fact, his very doctrine would be sufficient to prove 
his indebtedness to De Maistre for many of his 
historical, social and religious ideas. 


CTA PA haex Ui 


MAINE DE BIRAN, COUSIN, AND ECLECTICISM 


MAINE DE BIRAN was said by Cousin to have 
been the first of French metaphysicians since Male- 
branche. This is true, especially, if we understand 
by a metaphysician, as they did in the eighteenth 
century, a thinker who studies the origin of our 
knowledge and the genesis of our ideas. Yet this 
original and deep philosopher was but little known 
to his contemporaries. Maine de Biran, though 
he wrote much, published but little during his life- 
time, and what he gave to the world was not suffi- 
cient to make his thought fully understood. It was 
Cousin, who, in 1834, and afterwardsin 1841, edited 
part of the manuscripts left by Maine de Biran. 
Since then other unpublished works have been 
edited, chiefly by M. Naville. If we have not yet 
the whole of Maine de Biran’s writings, we possess 
_ enough to feel assured that no essential part of his 
doctrine now escapes us. 

Maine de Biran never taught. Being a life- 
guardsman to Louis .the Sixteenth in 1789, and 
later sub-prefect and councillor of State, if he was 
also a philosopher it was in virtue of a strong nat- 
ural aptitude and inclination. A sort of instinct 
irresistibly impelled him to make a study of him- 

321 


322 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


self. His health being delicate, he was watchful 
of the slightest changes in his physical condition 
and in his consciousness due to surrounding cir- 
cumstances, and was consequently predisposed to 
introspection. ‘‘When one has little vitality,’’ he 
writes, ‘‘or but a faint conscious sense of vitality, 
one is more inclined to observe internal phenom- 
ena. This is why I became so early in life a psy- 
chologist.’’ He heard the springs of the machine 
creaking, and he felt his thought straining or slack- 
ening with them. 

His taste for psychology first found food in Con- 
dillac, and then in the Ideologists. He became | 
acquainted with Cabanis, and was afterwards his 
friend; and though later he thought that he had 
advanced beyond his doctrine, he never completely 
rejected it. But he also read the Genevese Charles 
Bonnet, and it was probably by him that he was 
led to study the philosophy of Leibniz, and to seek 
a psychological interpretation of it that would be 
in harmony with his own tendencies. It was at 
this time that he wrote his A/émozre sur 1 Habitude 
(1805), an original and thoughtful work, which, 
under a form that suggests Condillac, already man- 
ifests many of his own personal and independent 
views. In the next period he reached the clearest 
expression of his thought and expounded what 
he looked upon as his most important theory, to 
wit, the theory of effort, or of the first fact of con- 
sciousness. In this he was seconded by his friend 
Ampére, the celebrated physicist, whose philosoph- 


MAINE DE BIRAN. 323 


ical work is inseparable from his own. He often 
enunciated his ideas at philosophical meetings held 
at his house in Paris. Royer-Collard was wont to 
be present, and also “‘ young Professor Cousin,’’ 
who comprehended the thought of Maine de Biran 
marvelously well. In later years, when ill, and 
anxious to find “‘a firm and steady prop,’’ Maine 
de Biran inclined towards a mystical and religious 
kind of philosophy; and he had yielded himself 
fully to it before the end of his life. 


Condillac’s psychology had separated, so to 
speak, consciousness from organism. Convinced 
that ‘‘we never get out of ourselves,’’ he thought 
himself thus justified in studying only what reflec- 
tion and analysis can reach and decompose within 
ourselves. Now this is an abstraction which Maine 
de Biran constantly finds to be contradicted by his 
personal experience. Our humor changes, our at- 
tention flags, our self-confidence disappears or 
returns without our knowing how; is it not because 
a multitude of dim sensations are produced within 
us, of which we are made aware only by their 
effects? Thus experimental psychology can as yet 
describe only the smallest portion of the soul’s 
phenomena. This science begins with clear apper- 
ception, and with the distinction between the 
‘““self’’? and its modifications. But how many 
things take place in the soul before, during, and 
after the first consciousness of the self, which will 
never come within the range of our knowledge! 


324 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


These things Maine de Biran calls pure impressions, 
or simple impressions; they constitute the ‘‘affect- 
ivelife,’... [hey correspond tomlceibniz sedimmana 
insensible perceptions; or, perhaps more exactly, 
tol @abaniss sensibility! ty ae ineseanim persone 
sensations, which I shall term pure affections, may 
be considered as the most immediate results of 
functions that underlie a general organic life 

a state previous even to the birth of a 
conscious and thinking subject.’’ This was a fruit- 
ful thought, which experimental psychology has 
turned: towexcellent .account#/inoumdayssw Uiis 
science admits as a principle, as Maine de Biran 
did, that “‘simple impressions may constitute an 
absolute sort of existence, suz generis, apart from 
any distinct personality or consciousness of self. 
Me Prerre. Janet, :fon/anstance; |) hasmareturnedmeto 
this hypothesis in order to explain many surprising 
cases of hysterical anesthesia and amnesia, of two- 
fold personality, etc. 

This part of ourselves which escapes our knowl- 
edge also escapes our power. The affective life is 
independent of our will, though our will depends 
uponit. Itis a purely passive basis of our complex 
being, from which the ego can never be separated, 
and which becomes tense or slack or altered with- 
out our being able to interfere, at any rate directly; 
asum of organic dispositions we are the less able 
to modify since they are the very source of our 
powers and volitions. They result from our tem- 
perament, and what we call character is but the 


MAINE DE BIRAN. 325 


physiognomy of temperament—a striking phrase, 
for which we are indebted to Bichat, the physiolo- 
gist, and which Maine de Biran made his own by 
exploring it thoroughly. 

At about the same epoch Schopenhauer in 
Germany was saying the same thing; and though 
he was in nowise acquainted with the works of 
_ Maine de Biran, there is in this more than a mere 
fortuitous coincidence. Between Schopenhauer’s 
psychology and that of Maine de Biran there lie 
hidden, under obvious differences, deep analogies. 
If little attention has hitherto been paid in France 
to this fact, it is because of a predisposition to see 
in Maine de Biran one of the founders of contem- 
porary spiritualism,—and he is therefore associated 
with Cousin rather than with Bichat or Cabanis. 

But this interpretation, while not false, is cer- 
tainly incomplete, and not in harmony with history. 
Maine de Biran owes nothing to Cousin, and was, 
especially in his two earlier periods, imbued with 
the doctrines of Bichat and of ‘‘the immortal 
author of the Rapports du Physique et du Moral.”’ 
Now this was no less true of Schopenhauer. True, 
in Schopenhauer the ideas borrowed from Bichat 
and Cabanis were mingled with other elements taken 
from Kant, Plato, and Buddhist metaphysics, 
whereas Maine de Biran contented himself with 
investigating certain problems propounded by the 
eighteenth century. Yet both these men alike 
oppose to the conscious personality of the ego the 
dim unconscious background which enfolds it, 


B26 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


sways it, and even directs it, and predetermines, 
unknown to ourselves, our thoughts and actions, 
our intelligence and character. Only afterwards do 
their doctrines diverge. : 

Affective life constitutes in us what Maine de 
Biran calls ‘‘animality.’’ Above it, but linked to 
it, appears “‘humanity,’’ i.e., consciousness reflect- 
ing on itself and master of itself, personality, or 
the ego. This latter begins to exist by itself only 
when exercising free activity or determined effort. 
Thus—and Maine de Biran likes to remind us that 
he is here taking up the thought of Leibniz—the 
idea that the human person has of itself is originally 
thevideatonvan active force mil hescoomssnrst oneal 
activity and liberty. In other words, the ego is the 
soul, insomuch as it perceives its own existence, 
but this it perceives only when its activity meets 
(within the body) with a resistance which it endeav- 
ors to overcome. 

If this observation is correct, the whole structure 
of Condillacism falls to pieces. Sensation is no 
longer the first fact of consciousness, the principle 
ofallitheysoul’s ‘life’, Thetweryiterm™ sensation « 
is abstract and ambiguous, because Condillac did 
not carry the analysis farenough. For, if sensa- 
tion be conceived as simply passive, then it is only 
an ‘‘affective impression,’’ and the ego does not yet 
appear: sensation may take place without con- 
sciousness being aware of it. Does sensation imply 
a motor reaction, conscious and deliberate? Then 
it resolves itself into a passive and an active ele- 


MAINE DE BIRAN. ay 


ment. The latter is intentional effort. In it, and 
not in any received impression, must we seek the 
special origin of our active faculties, the pivotal 
point of existence and the foundation of all the 
simple ideas we may acquire concerning ourselves 
and our intellectual activity. 

Yet Maine de Biran does not think that the soul 
- appears to itself just as it really is. ‘‘I was at first 
rather inclined,’’ he says, “‘to mistake the inmost 
feeling of our individuality, or what I called the 
ego, for the very core of the substance of the soul. 
But Kant has taught me better. We feel our own 
individuality; but the real substance of our soul 
we feel no more than any other substance.’’ No 
doubt the ego that perceives and judges is the same 
that is perceived and judged; but this being which 
is perceived and judged has still an inmost core 
of substance inaccessible to apperception. It may 
be endowed, as Malebranche thought, with a multi- 
tude of properties or attributes which are unknown 
or do not come within the range of our inward 
sense. This inward sense may indeed assure us 
that we are thinking; and on this point Descartes’s 
“I think, therefore I am,’’ is irrefutable. But the 
most subtle analysis of this inward sense cannot 
possibly throw the slightest light upon our knowl- 
edge of ourselves, ‘‘as an object outside of 
thought.’’ To believe that, by means of analysis 
based on purely internal experience, we can at 
length arrive at the notion of a substantial ego, is 
to mistake the psychological fact of what is within 


328 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


us,» thats, }ourselves in, the wactual vexercisemor 
thought, for the metaphysical notion of the sub- 
stance which is supposed to remain the same beyond 
and beneath thought. 

Maine de Biran here agrees with Kant, as he 
says. In Kant, however, the theory of the ego’s 
knowledge of itself has for its basis the whole of 
the Critique of Pure Reason, and more especially 
the theory of sensible and intellectual knowledge. 
Maine de Biran, on the contrary, starts from the 
analysis of the first fact of consciousness, and on 
that analysis he afterwards attempts to found a 
theory of the understanding and reason. In oppo- 
sition to the doctrine of categories, which is quite 
a priort in Kant, he endeavors to maintain a psycho- 
logical genesis of the general principles of thought. 
Thus, because the ego perceives itself as a cause, 
Maine de Biran finds therein ‘‘the pattern and model 
of every idea of power, force, and cause.’’ Unity, 
simplicity, existence, etc., are ideas which the ego 
obtains by means of an abstraction wrought upon 
itself, and which in a way isolates its own attributes. 
If we find these attributes again in objects, it is 
because they have been, so to speak, projected by 
the ego. In one word, reason is thus held to be 
the spontaneous result of a sort of self-analysis of 
consciousness. 

But this is rather a sketch thana regular theory, 
and Maine de Biran was suspicious of everything 
that might carry him beyond the firm ground of 
experience. The science he seeks to establish 


MAINE DE BIRAN. 329 


starts from a fact and must lead only to facts and 
to the laws which they obey. The absolute, as 
Maine de Biran does not hesitate to confess, is 
beyond its grasp. How, he says himself, could all 
things fail to be relative in our eyes, since the very 
existence of the ego, the individual personality 
which is the basis of the thinking being, is rel- 
_ ative? The thing called ego being a compound, 
or the result of the union and relation between two 
substances, can conceive or feel nothing but as a 
compound or relation. The very idea of sub- 
stance seems suspicious to Maine de Biran. The 
ego does not find it within itself, for it apprehends 
itselfv'asoa’ cause, notd'as ay substancel> (This videa 
must, therefore, originate without our knowing it, 
in the representation of exterior things, space and 
matter. It was this idea that caused the philosophy 
of Descartes to tend in the direction of pantheism. 
It is the secret enemy of personality and liberty; it 
tends to mingle together in an obscure metaphys- 
ical unity the ego-person in which everything has 
its beginning, and the God-person in which all 
things end. 

Though an original and deep psychologist, 
Maine de Biran was a timid metaphysician. No 
doubt the study of the ego induced him to think of 
itwacsea’ “hy perorganicumiorce. wwhile the inward 
sense assured him of his liberty; but he was fully 
aware that there are problems, and most essential 
ones, to which his doctrine gives no direct answer, 
the moral problem, for instance. Therefore he 


330 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


wished to complete his psychology by a reasoned 
adherence to a general system of philosophy in 
accordance with his inmost tendencies. In _ his 
second period he felt himself won over to Stoicism, 
which is, in his eyes, a moral philosophy based 
upon the dignity of the human personality and 
upon the energy of active effort. But Stoicism 
expects too much from man’s will; and although 
Christianity, in its turn, makes man too weak and 
helpless, it was to Christianity that Maine de Biran 
turned in the latter years of his life for the ‘‘prop’’ 
of which he felt the need. He then wrote his 
Nouveaux Essais a Anthropologie, which distin- 
guish in man three lives, one above the other, as it 
were: sensitive life, which is in us that of the ani- 
mal; human life, that is, the life of action and the 
struggle of the thinking principle against the in- 
stinctive and animal principle; and lastly, divine 
life, in which animalism is conquered and the 
struggle ceases because love has united man to 
the supreme source of all beings and all good. 
And thus, in a sort of quietism, ended this philos- 
ophy which had begun as a continuation of Condil- 
lac and Cabanis. 


Maine de Biran is one of the three masters from 
whom Cousin acknowledges having received his 
philosophical education. The two others are Lar- 
omiguiére, who, as early as 1810, taught him that 
Condillac’s psychological analysis was incomplete 
and faulty and that attention cannot be a trans- 


COUSIN, AND ECLECTICISM. 331 


formed sensation, and Royer-Collard, who made 
him acquainted with Scotch philosophy. But the 
homage paid by Cousin to the philosophers whose 
teaching he had followed, or whose conversation 
he had heard, is not by any means equivalent to 
an exhaustive list of the sources from which he 
gathered his ideas. We shall come across others 
(which, indeed, he has himself pointed out), as 
we trace the general features of his doctrine. 

they leading, thousht)Votimy,) life, |) 
Cousin in 1826, ‘‘has beento rebuild eternal beliefs 
in accordance with the spirit of the age, and also 
to arrive at unity, but solely by the aid of the ex- 
perimental method.’’ Thus, the philosophical 
method employed by the eighteenth century was to 
him the right one. Cousin seeks no other. This 
method of observation and induction has given 
marvelous results in the natural sciences. Why 
has it hitherto led only to wretched ones in phi- 
losophy? Why, in England as well as in France, 
has it been able only to destroy, without laying 
any new foundation? The fault lies with the men, 
not with the method. The method is irreproach- 
able, but the men have erred. They erred because 
they were systematic, and their systems distorted 


wrote 


observation. 

So Cousin, like all thinkers in his time, was 
chiefly concerned with ‘‘rebuilding.’’ After sucha 
formidable earthquake as the French Revolution 
had been, after the passionate and destroying criti- 
cism of the eighteenth century, there was no one 


332 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


who did not feel the need either of raising again 
the ancient edifice or of becoming the architect 
of a new one. But, while the Traditionalists 
went resolutely counter to the doctrines of the 
eighteenth century, the method and principles of 
which they attacked, Cousin professed to follow its 
direction, but to correct its errors. ‘‘Since,’’ he 
says, ‘‘we are, as regards the principle to be fol- 
lowed, in accord with the schools that we combat, 
we shall have only to point out the wrong, narrow 
or superficial applications that have been made of 
itr 

Three schools in the eighteenth century began 
to apply a suitable method to philosophy: that of 
the ‘‘wise and judicious Locke,’’ that of Reid, and 
that of Kant, the last being far superior to the two 
others. All three understood that philosophy must 
begin with a strict and thorough examination 
of the human mind and of its faculties. But this 
examination they made only partially, and each of 
them considered but one aspect of reality. The 
school of Locke and Condillac sought only the 
origin of our knowledge; the school of Reid 
studied only its actual features, without regard to 
its origin; lastly, the school of Kant was chiefly 
devoted to a consideration of the legitimacy of the 
passage from the subject to the object. A better 
application of the method would consist in study- 
ing at one and the same time all three problems, 
of which each school investigated but one. In 
order to make whole again the intellectual life 


COUSIN, AND ECLECTICISM. cele 


mutilated by each system we should withdraw our- 
selves into consciousness.and then, without any 
spirit of system or exclusive prejudice, analyze 
thought in its elements, and a// its elements, and 
seek the characteristics, and all the characteristics, 
with which it reveals itself to the vision of con- 
sciousness. 

Such is the eclectic method under the first form 
given to it by Victor Cousin. It does not mean, 
as we see, the arbitrary juxtaposition of doctrines 
borrowed here and there without regard to any 
coérdinating and governing principle, and with- 
out caring whether these doctrines are contradic- 
tory. Eclecticism borrows no piece of doctrine 
from previous systems. It bases itself solely upon 
the observation of facts, and upon induction. If 
it agrees on one or another point with a philosoph- 
ical system that has preceded it, it is because 
there is in every doctrine, even in an erroneous one, 
Agiopencer says,ay “soulvotmtnuth. nt Why then, 
did Cousin choose the name of Eclecticism, which 
has caused so much misunderstanding? Because 
one of the most salient features of this system, 
which is founded upon complete observation, is 
that it comprises all the truth to be found in the 
preceding doctrines, which rested on incomplete 
observation: in this sense Eclecticism unites them 
in itself as in a common center. 

The school of Condillac had found consciousness 
to be composed only of transformed sensations, and 
it reduced to sensation, as to a single principle, all 


334 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


forms of the activity of the soul. But Cousin says 
an accurate and complete observation distinguishes 
in consciousness three kinds of irreducible facts: 
facts of sensation, of volition, and of intellection. 
The analysis of the first of these had been made, 
and correctly made, in the eighteenth century. 
That of the others had been distorted and misrep- 
resented, and it was precisely the latter analysis 
which was to enable Cousin to ‘‘ rebuild eternal 
truths.’’ The experimental method was to build 
again what it had pulled down. It was to supply 
ontology with a sure instrument, and with broad 
and solid foundations. 

Let us consider an intellectual fact, for instance 
the following judgment: ‘‘ My volition moves my 
arm.’’ In one sense this judgment is simply a fact. 
of which consciousness informs me when it takes 
place. But in another sense this fact implies ele- 
ments which are beyond the range of experience; 
for when I think ‘‘ my volition is the cause of the 
motion of my arm,’’ I express under a concrete 
form and apply to a particular case the following 
general principle: ‘‘Every phenomenon implies a 
cause.’’ Now, as soon as I consider this principle, 
which is the soul of my judgment, it appears to 
me to be universal and necessary; that is, supe- 
rior to experience, since the latter relates only to 
what is particular and contingent. Such is the 
transition from psychology to metaphysics; or, as 
Cousin says, from observation to speculation. The 
philosopher starts from facts, but these serve him 


COUSIN, AND ECLECTICISM. 335 


only as subject-matter or occasion. Psychology he 
uses simply as a ‘‘bridge’’ to lead him over to 
metaphysics or ontology, from which he was other- 
wise separated by an impassable chasm. 
Metaphysics is the preéminent science, the sci- 
ence of) sciences.) heresiss nomsciencey OL whatwis 
transitory, Cousin repeats after Plato. The object 
of science is the absolute; that is to say, that which 
remains forever self-identical, which is not subject 
to the necessity of coming into being or of chang- 
ing. The eternal substance is ‘‘absolute,’’ Plato’s 
ideas are ‘‘absolute,’’ and the principle of causality 
is ‘‘absolute.’’ The task of science consists in 
seeking after the absolute, and in seeking it by 
means of observation, without which there is no 
real science. Now, it is just when we go to the 
bottom of the facts of consciousness which come 
within the range of observation, that we attain to 
principles that are absolute. The ‘‘psychological 
method’’ thus supplies the needed transition. It 
solves the initial problem of science, viz.: to find @ 
postertort something whieh is a przortz. No doubt, 
strictly speaking, neither internal nor external expe- 
rience can supply anything @ przorz. ‘‘From the fact 
to the principle there is no possible transition; there 


bf 


is an abyss between them.’’ Stilla fact may serve 
reason as a subject-matter or occasion in conceiv- 
ing the principle. 

What is then that ‘‘reason’’ which takes me into 
the world of the infinite and absolute, beyond the 


limits of experience? It is the principle of thought; 


336 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


it is something within myself, but not myself; it isan 
ampersonal faculty, although it cannot be exercised 
unless man’s personality or ego be presupposed and 
added” to it: *° “shall perhapsymever ‘succeed sin 
investigating its essence; but what I know very 
well is, that whenever it appears to me I have the 
intuition of what is immovable, necessary and abso- 


’ 


lute.’’ May notthese forms under which it is con- 
stantly manifested to me be its very modes of exist- 
ence, and might I not then define it as the substance 
of necessary, universal and absolute truths, in the 
physical as well as in the moral order of things? 
Reason would then be the absolute and only sub- 
stance, the source of every being and every truth; 
in one word—God. ‘‘Reason is God looking down 
upon man and revealing Himself to man under the 
form of absolute truth.’’ 

Cousin is here evidently anxious to go beyond 
Kant’s point of view. He praises the latter phi- 
losopher for having restored the necessary princi- 
ples of knowledge rejected by empiricism in the 
eighteenth century, and insufficiently justified by 
Reid. But Kant in his turn made a mistake, first 
in increasing the number of these principles, which 
may be reduced to two (the principle of causality 
and that of substance), and then chiefly in viewing 
these principles only as constituent forms of the 
human understanding. Kant thus leaves to reason 
but a relative value, and ends ina sort of scepti- 
cism. In order to escape this scepticism we must 
show that reason has an absolute value, that it is not 


COUSIN, AND ECLECTICISM. 33:7. 


only man’s reason, but Reason in itself, and that 
man merely participates init. Thisis met, in Cou- 
sin, by the theory of “‘impersonal’’ reason revealed 
to man by necessary principles. This revelation 
he calls pure apperception, or the first and last fact 
of consciousness: it is what makes of us rational 
beings, and in virtue of it the most trifling of our 
judgments contains the absolute, and is an act of 
faith in God. 

In whatever way we may conceive this ‘pure 
apperception,’’ the absolute is in itself and not in 
us. ‘‘The absolute soars above humanity and 
nature, dominates and rules over them both eter- 
nally, with only this difference: the one knows it 
and the other does not.’’ These brilliant expres- 
sions throw a light both upon Cousin’s thought and 
upon its origin. We recognize in them Schelling’s 
metaphysics. The latter’s ‘‘intellectual intuition’’ 
nearly corresponds to Cousin’s ‘‘pure appercep- 
tion. \ It. was naturali.thaty.Gousin, désirous).of 
going beyond Kant’s point of view, should feel 
attracted towards Schelling’s doctrine, which was 
born of the same need, and was then greatly in 
favor in Germany. Yet, though he is wonderfully 
in accord with the German philosopher in his theory 
of the absolute, he persists in differing from him in 
his method. Schelling proceeds 4 priorz ; Cousin 
maintains that his statements are founded on 
psychological observation. It is experience, he 
says, which, when applied to consciousness and 
carried to a certain degree of depth, yields what is 


338 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


apparently most completely opposed to it, 1.e., the 
revelation of the absolute. 

Yet, one might object, are you sure that your 
method gives all that you attribute to it? If you 
really ground your statements on observation, you 
start from the fact, that is, from what is relative 
and conditioned, and however deep you may go, 
you can never do anything more than go from one 
condition to another, without ever reaching what is 
absolute or unconditioned. You have yourself said: 
‘“*One cannot pass over from the fact to the prin- 
ciple; there is an abyss between them.’’ How do 
you span this abyss? It is not sufficient to say that 
the fact is the occasion which leads to the concep- 
tion of the principle; this is answering the question 
with the words of the question itself. The diffi- 
culty is a serious one. Cousin, though he does not 
answer it, at least narrows it down by the distinc- 
tion, —all-important with him,—between the spon- 
taneous and the reflective point of view. 

No doubt, he says, from the reflective point of 
view, which is that of the understanding, we are 
driven from one cause to another, without being 
able to reach a supreme cause, and the phenomena 
that we apprehend in ourselves never represent the 
absolute substance. Had we no other way of look- 
ing at things, metaphysics would be an impossi- 
bility. But the reflective point of view cannot be 
the only one at our disposal, for whatever is 
reflected implies something primitive. For instance, 
our voluntary gestures we have already made spon- 


COUSIN, AND ECLECTICISM. 339 


taneously. It is the same with the sounds we emit 
in language; and how could we deliberate upon the 
reflective use we are to make of our liberty had not 
a spontaneous use of it first made us aware of its 
existence? In like manner, in the intellectual order, 
reflective judgment presupposes a spontaneous oper- 
ation, which is precisely the pure apperception of 
reason. ‘‘It is our lot to seek for the spontaneous 
point of view by the help of reflection, that is, to 
destroy it by our very search.’’ The light of the 
understanding, which proceeds from the distinct- 
ness and definiteness of our ideas, makes the deeper 
region of spontaneity, in which pure appercep- 
tion apprehends the essential being without dividing 
or defining it, seem a little dark to us; so that the 
light of the understanding, which is a mere reflec- 
tion, appears to us superior to the more real, but 
indistinct, light of pure apperception, without 
which, however, reflective judgment itself would 
be impossible. Pure apperception does not ex- 
plicitly contain any idea of the limited or the unlim- 
ited, of the relative or the absolute, of the finite 
or the infinite; it contains all these things implic- 
itly, and reflection forthwith converts them into 
distinct and necessary truths. 

This theory is not only interesting on account 
of its obvious connection with those of Plato and 
Plotinus, as well as with those of Schelling and Hegel; 
it is also one of the most significant tokens of the 
growing philosophical reaction against the spirit of 
the eighteenth century: a token all the more deci- 


340 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


sive as Cousin himself does not seem to have under- 
stood all its significance. He flattered himself that 
he had been a faithful follower of the experimental 
method and had practiced it better than the cen- 
tury that had itself so loved and extolled it. 
Now the principle of that method consisted in car- 
rying analysis as far as possible, in resolving into 
its parts even what seemed at first indivisible, in 
seeking out the genesis of all that is in the soul, 
and in considering nature itself as an earlier custom: 
in one word, in supposing even that to be acquired 
which represents itself as spontaneous. Does Cousin 
remain faithful to the method when, on the con- 
trary, he explains the reflective by the spontaneous 
and exalts a sort of rational instinct above analysis? 
Does he not rather agree with the adversaries of 
that method, such as De Maistre, who reproached 
the philosophers of the eighteenth century with 
destroying all life and poetry, and tried to explain 
by some mysterious, unfathomable, divine spon- 
taneity, the development of human thought, of 
societies, languages, and civilizations? 
Romanticism in Germany had violently risen 
against the French spirit of the eighteenth century. 
Over against the cold and chilling light of analysis it 
set the fruitful chzaro-oscuro of natural spontaneity; 
against the observation of zsthetic rules, the un- 
trammelled liberty of creative genius; against the 
conscious processes of reflection, the imperceptible 
movement of living nature. This romantic phil- 


COUSIN; ANDSECLECTICISM. 341 


osophy found its way into the teaching of Fichte 
and Schelling, with which Cousin became acquainted 
in his youth, while with one of its chief representa- 
tives, A. W. Schlegel, he had in Paris opportuni- 
ties for intercourse. In his lectures from 1818 to 
1828, Cousin was full of this philosophy. He was 
then really a romantic philosopher, and this chiefly 
accounts for the enthusiasm with which the youth 
of the time ‘received. hismlessons.. | Perhaps they 
did not understand very thoroughly such abstruse 
metaphysics, but a genuine feeling apprised them 
that Cousin’s brilliant yet obscure precepts sprang 
from the same soil as the poetry of Hugo, Lamar- 
tine, and De Vigny, or the pictures of Scheffer and 
Delacroix. 

The eighteenth century had hoped for the great- 
est results from the personal action of the legislator, 
the sage, and the philosopher; romantic philosophy, 
on the contrary, in this as in everything else re- 
duced the rédle ascribed to conscious reflection, and 
looked for the progress of mankind only from a 
spontaneous evolution within the souls of men. 
From this again Cousin drew his inspiration. Phi- 
losophers, in his thought, are but the interpreters 
of humanity, and their teaching is to the dim 
feeling of the mass of mankind what reflection is to 
spontaneity. It creates nothing; its function is 
merely to make things clear by dividing and sub- 
dividing them, and to express them by means of 
analysis. Mankind as a whole is ‘‘ inspired.’’ 


342 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


The beliefs of the masses are ¢vue; what they lack 
is only the knowledge of the secret meaning of their 
beliefs. 

We shall not, therefore, be very much surprised 
to detect here a point of contact between Eclecticism 
and Traditionalism, and to find that Cousin agrees 
with Lamennais as to the idea of “‘inspired man- 
kind.’’ But Lamennais, like De Maistre and De 
Bonald, openly attacks the eighteenth century in its 
principle and in its method, whereas Cousin claims 
to combat it in the very name of its principle and 
method. He does not perceive that, by setting 
spontaneity above reflection, he has adopted an 
entirely contrary principle and method. His Eclec- 
ticism breaks here upon the irreducible contra- 
diction between the elements he tries to bring to- 
gether. Between the method of the eighteenth 
century and the metaphysics of Romanticism a 
choice had to be made. 


God is the one infinite and absolute substance. 
Indeed, says Cousin, if He be not all things He is 
nothing. For this pantheistic maxim he was after- 
wards severely reproached, when he had become the 
responsible director of philosophical teaching in 
France. As much as he could he attenuated the 
force of its meaning, and at last substituted for it the 
following: ‘‘ If God be not zz all things, He is noth- 
ing’’—a bootless concession, which did not disarm 
his Catholic adversaries. It was not only this maxim, 
but the very spirit of his philosophy that seemed to 


COUSIN, AND ECLECTICISM. 343 


them suspicious, and also his way of understanding 
the relation between reason and faith. Had he not 
dared to say, in his course of lectures in 1828, that 
man advances from the twilight of religious faith to 
the full light of philosophical truth? Is religion, 
then, a sort of metaphysics for the people, and are 
dogmas only more or less accurate symbols of that 
_ truth which finds its full expression in rational doc- 
trines? Hegel had indeed said something similar, 
but under a veiled form, and less likely to cause a 
scandal because in a Protestant country. Cousin 
was violently attacked. He stubbornly withstood 
the storm, and when he had to give way he pre- 
ferred to give up this or that point of his doctrine 
rather than to endanger the very existence of philo- 
sophical teaching. After 1830 Victor Cousin must 
be judged as a politician, and no longer as a 
philosopher. 

Furthermore, of this absolute substance we can 
say nothing, except that it exists. Reason, or “‘the 
Word’’ serves as mediator between it and us, and it 
is manifested by the three great ideas of the Beauti- 
ful, the Good and the True. Herein is the three- 
fold principle of science, art and morals. These 
superior ends of human activity are thus connected 
with a divine source, and at the same time the sen- 
sualistic and materialistic explanations given of them 
in the eighteenth century are refuted. Art seeks to 
realize in plastic beauty a suprasensible ideal. Science 
pursues beyond the knowledge of what is relative 
the possession of its true object, which is the Abso- 


344 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


lute. Lastly action, freeing itself from selfish 
motives, none of which can fully satisfy a reasonable 
being, yields to moral obligation, and conscience 
recognizes in duty the bidding of God Himself. 

Cousin has read the Crztzque of Practical Reason, 
and makes a frequent use of Kant’s “‘sublime’’ doc- 
trine. Yet he does not feel constrained to follow 
its principle rigorously. He does not acknowledge 
that man owes to “‘the categorical imperative”’ 
absolute and almost passive obedience. There are 
cases, he says (no doubt influenced by Jacobi), 
when the decision of the soul, being neither blind 
nor deliberate, but spontaneous, is self-inspired, and 
attains to heroism and self-sacrifice from its own 
first impulse. In the domain of action as well asin 
that of knowledge, the creative and original func- 
tion belongs not to reflection but to free spon- 
taneity. 

As to the soul, it is undoubtedly the first object 
of philosophy, since our observation is first con- 
cerned with the facts of consciousness, which alone 
are directly given to us. But the essence of the 
soul is not directly known to us. Cousin thinks 
with the Scotch school, that ‘‘the real and sub- 
stantial ego does not come under the eye of con- 
sciousness.’’ If we get some knowledge of it, it is 
by applying the principle of substance; an applica- 
tion not reflective and logical, but primitive and 
spontaneous. This is our first step outside of con- 
sciousness. The ego then appears to us as thought, 
sensibility and activity at one and the same time. 


COUSIN, AND ECLECTICISM. 345 


If we seek what constitutes its inmost nature, we 
find it is neither thought nor sensibility. The ego 
in its essence is liberty, and it is just because it is 
free that it is capable of knowing and feeling. 
“The privilege and grandeur of liberty! Where 
that is wanting, intelligence is stifled, and where 
intelligence dies, sensibility perishes. ... The ego 
_is free: that is its inmost essence.”’ 

Cousin was not embarrassed by the objections 
raised against man’s free-will. This free-will is 
sufficiently proved in his eyes by the testimony of 
conscience which charges us with the responsibility 
for our own actions, and by the absurdity of conse- 
quences that follow from the contrary supposition. 
But he conceives liberty under two forms: one 
reflective, the other spontaneous. Liberty is exer- 
cised with reflection when the ego sets before itself 
an act to be accomplished, deliberates, and finally 
comes to adecision. This form of liberty implies 
another, which is accompanied neither by delibera- 
tion nor by choice; a purer form although far less 
clear to the understanding, and one in which the 
very essence of the soul’s activity is manifested. 
Here again, as in his theory of knowledge and as in 
his theory of morals, Cousin does not hesitate to 
subordinate reflection to spontaneity. Liberty, 
like reason, participates in the absolute; and this 
participation, though it remains amystery to the 
understanding, is yet in us the source of every light 
and every virtue. 


346 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE, 


The course of lectures delivered by Cousin in 
1828 marks the culminating point, and, as M. Janet 
says, the end of the development of his theoretical 
philosophy. In the lectures of 1817 and 1818 the 
influence of Schelling had been predominant, while 
in 1828 that of Hegel had become most important. 
During his long stay in Germany, Cousin had had 
time to become familiar with Hegel’s philosophy, 
which had finally eclipsed all others. He had even 
been able to profit by the explanations of Hegel 
himself and of his closest followers. Hegel said on 
reading Cousin’s lectures: ‘“‘I furnished him the 
fish, and he has served it with his sauce.’’ The 
influence of Hegel is chiefly felt in the second part 
of the course of lectures, which treats of the phi- 
losophy of history. Indeed, Cousin never con- 
cealed what he owed to the German philosophers of 
his time. Heclaims for himself nothing but the 
conception of an impartial Eclecticism, which, judg- 
ing previous doctrines to be not false but incom- 
plete, endeavors to build a true and complete one 
which shall unite them all in a vast synthesis. 

To consider in Cousin only the metaphysician of 
the years before 1830 would be wrongly to deprive 
him of a considerable part of his work. Cousin 
was also an orator, a professor, an administrator, a 
historian of philosophy, and in each of these réles 
he was admirable, or at least interesting. As a 
professor and orator in 1828 his success was equal 
to that of Villemain and Guizot, and the fame of 
his eloquence still remains. As an administrator 


COUSIN, AND ECLECTICISM. 347 


he was the object of sharp criticism. In the course 
of defending the teaching of philosophy in French 
secondary schools against the clergy who wished to 
suppress it, he formally required of the body of 
professors he thus protected a politic prudence 
that was rather incompatible with philosophical 
liberty. The very obedience he exacted from them 
changed as soon as he was dead into lasting spite 
‘ against his memory. Even his philosophical sin- 
cerity had appeared open to suspicion, when, in the 
successive editions of his works, he had been ob- 
served to weaken his own thought, to strip it of 
everything original, to pare it down to a vaguely 
platonized and declamatory kind of spiritualism, 
and, in short, to do his utmost to make it insig- 
nificant. Thus, if we were to distinguish two 
philosophical periods in Cousin’s life (which is 
unnecessary), the main object of the second would 
seem to have been to disclaim the first. 

At least his services to the history of philosophy 
can not be questioned; these were rendered chiefly 
in his translations of Plato and Proclus, and by his 
edition of the complete works of Descartes, a task 
so well done that we are only just beginning to 
think of needing a new edition. At the same time, 
Cousin let in a first light in the long and obscure 
period of the Middle Ages; he had also the good 
fortune to come across an unpublished pamphlet of 
Pascal, and he discovered the original text of the 
Pensées. These historical works, bearing on such 
various epochs, are all, nevertheless, connected with 


348 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


the leading idea of his philosophy; for impartial 
Eclecticism bears not only on the facts of conscious- 
ness, but also on the various doctrines which are 
met with in the history of philosophy. To throw 
light upon the history of philosophy by means of 
asystem, and to prove this very system by the 
whole history of philosophy: such was the pro- 
gram Cousin had set for himself in his youth. 

Why did he fail to fulfil it, in spite of his 
luminous intelligence, his happy genius, and his 
quick power of assimilation? The causes of the 
failure are many, and we have seen in the course of 
this study a most important one: the incompati- 
bility between the method Cousin meant to follow 
and the doctrines he taught. Then again, he never 
worked out by himself any part of his philosophy, 
at least in his earlier and better period. We have 
nothing but sketches; the author has drawn them 
with swift, bold strokes, but has not grappled with 
the difficulties that arise in the details of execution 
and compel one to make his thought perfectly clear. 
These sketches themselves, with the exception of 
some prefaces and short essays, are lectures deliv- 
ered before "students.s WAS they were = brilliang 
ingenious, spangled with eloquent passages and 
striking expressions, one easily understands how 
they bred enthusiasm in a youthful audience and 
gave the impression of a forcible doctrine. But the 
reader who is no longer under the spell of the 
spoken word is necessarily more difficult to please. 
And the philosophy of. Cousin, even when it 


COUSIN, AND) ECLECTICISM. 349 


seems most abstruse and metaphysical, preserves 
the qualities, but also the defects, of oratory. He 
claims to be building up a science, but in fact 
pleads rather than demonstrates. Like a barris- 
ter, in the absence of rigorous proofs he is content 
with probability. He has the dogmatic tone 
which inspires and even commands confidence in 
the hearer; but evading objections is not the same 
as answering them. All this explains why Eclec- 
ticism, after its brilliant beginning in 1818-1828, 
could have no fruitful development. Cousin him- 
self did not care for that: it was sufficient for him 
that Eclecticism should make shift to live on. 


Among Cousin’s disciples, some clung unreserv- 
edly to the spiritualism of his later period; others, 
far less numerous, abandoned it in important 
points, though remaining faithful to the general 
spirit of his doctrine. Such were Jouffroy, about 
1840, and later on, Vacherot. Jouffroy had been 
one of Cousin’s first pupils. Having a soul eager for 
truth and thirsting for certitude, he was obliged to 
confess that the philosophy of his admired master 
did not give him entire satisfaction. None better 
than he expressed the doubts and hesitations to 
which his generation was subject (compare Alfred 
de Musset’s Confession a’ un Enfant du Siecle) and 
the imperfect solutions with which it finally had to 
beveontented.’)In\ ordersto wll the place” of ‘the 
religious faith which he had lost, he had dreamed 
of an earnest and self-reliant philosophical faith; 


350 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


and when he saw the impossibility of such an 
attainment his disappointment vented itself in elo- 
quent and passionate expressions of regret, for 
which he still lives in the world’s memory. Though 
he had translated Reid and Dugald Stewart, he 
refused to admit with them that the ego remains 
unknowable, and that consciousness can grasp only 
the phenomena of ourselves. But he has neither 
the originality nor the subtle psychological analysis 
of Maine de Biran, and his other works on morals 
or zsthetics are chiefly an index of a tender, 
proud, and aristocratic soul, rather than of a vigor- 
ous philosophical mind. 

Vacherot calls himself a free disciple of Cousin. 
Free he is, indeed, since instead of putting aside, 
as Cousin himself did, the metaphysical problems — 
which Cousin had proposed in his earlier period, it 
was with the study of these problems that he chiefly 
dealt. He investigated the ideas of perfection, of 
the infinite, of the ideal and of the real, to which 
Cousin had not given sufficiently precise definitions, 
and in La Métaphysique et la Science he endeavored 
to show that perfection is incompatible with real 
existence. We know the real, we form conceptions 
of the ideal. Renan was therefore right in saying 
that ‘‘God is the category of the ideal.’’ 

This doctrine, in which the influence of Hegel is 
visible, was strongly combated by those who might 
be called orthodox eclectic philosophers, especially 
by Caro and Janet. Even before these, Ad. 
Garnier, Jules Simon, Saisset, Bersot, and many 


COUSIN, AND ECLECTICISM. 351 


distinguished professors had followed the evolution 
of their master towards what was called spiritual- 
ism. They found in it a vantage-ground whereon 
to defend themselves on one side against the Catho- 
lic party, and on the other against the materialists 
and positivists; and they meant to uphold, together 
with their philosophy, those liberal principles from 
which they did not separate it, and which were 
dearer to them than almost everything else. They 
represented, not ingloriously, the juste milieu inter- 
pretation of the principles of the French Revolu- 
tion. While defending the spirit of the eighteenth 
century against the traditionalistic and clerical reac- 
tions, at the same time they combated what they 
called the excess of that spirit. Their philosophical 
system, as well as their political doctrine, which it 
reflects, was essentially a compromise. 


Oe me bre Geet BN NRA Oe HE 


THE SOCIAL REFORMERS—AUGUSTE COMTE. 


THE first half of the nineteenth century witnessed 
the appearance in France of a great many thinkers 
whose efforts were chiefly directed towards political 
philosophy and the reform of society. In this they 
showed themselves the immediate heirs of the phi- 
losophers of the eighteenth century. But this devo 
tion to social questions is also obviously a reaction 
from the French Revolution. Such an extraordi- 
nary upheaval could not but make itself felt in the 
world of thought, and inevitably gave a common 
impulse to the minds it had stirred. Some thought 
of combating the Revolution, others of correcting 
it, others of completing it; all of them, intention- 
ally or not, and even in their apparently most in- 
dependent speculations, took some account of the 
prodigious historical event which they had wit- 
nessed. We are often surprised to see some of 
them present as feasible the most impracticable 
social metamorphoses; but we must remember that 
that generation had seen the wreck of the old 
French monarchy, the almost yearly alterations in 
the maps of Europe, and the rise and fall of Napo- 
leon. Thus the limit of the possible in social and 


352 


THE SOCIAL REFORMERS. 353 


political matters must have encroached considera- 
bly upon the impossible in their eyes. 

Among these theorists the earliest, and no doubt 
also the most original, is Saint-Simon. Born in 1760 
and dying in 1825, he belongs to both centuries, 
and exactly represents the transition from one to 
the other. His mind was formed in the school of 
D’ Alembert and the ‘‘philosophers;’’ and he in his 
turn formed, or contributed to form, the opinions 
of Auguste Comte, Augustin Thierry, Bazard, 
Enfantin, and the majority of French socialists. 
Although there is no one more unlike Bayle than 
Saint-Simon, he may be said to stand on the thresh- 
old of the nineteenth century, as Bayle did on the 
threshold of the eighteenth. His was a stirring, or 
rather, an ever-bubbling mind, surprisingly fertile 
and no less surprisingly powerless to regulate itself. 
Impelled by a sort of restlessness to pass constantly 
from one subject to another, he went back and forth 
between scientific and philosophical, social and relig- 
ious problems; he was constantly retracing his steps, 
strewing his capricious way with new and some- 
times profound notions, with just observation and 
even with suggestive principles, from which more 
practical minds who came after him were able to 
draw true inferences. Nothing more fragmentary 
and desultory can be imagined than the pamphlets in 
which he attempts to elucidate his doctrine, which, 
however, aims at being synthetical and as viewing 
things ‘‘as a whole.’’ 

‘‘T had set myself the task,’’ says Saint-Simon, 


354 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


“of throwing light upon the question of social organ- 
ization.’’ In fact, just as the disruption of the old 
system of government had been the work of the 
philosophers of the eighteenth century, the “‘social 
reorganization’’ was to be the task of those of the 
nineteenth. The authors of the Excylopedia did 
a work that needed to be done. They destroyed a 
system of ideas and institutions which had served 
their time, and were henceforth only an impedi- 
ment to advancing civilization. But to destroy is 
not sufficient: it is not the final destiny of society 
to inhabit ruins. A critical period must be suc- 
ceeded by an organic period. The philosophers 
of the eighteenth century wrote an encyclopedia 
in order to overthrow the theological and feudal 
system. It was essential that the philosophers 
of the nineteenth should, in their turn, write an- 
other encyclopedia in order to construct the indus- 
trial and scientific system. ‘‘My purpose,’’ says 
Saint-Simon, “‘is to impress upon the nineteenth 
century an organizing character.’’” 

According to De Maistre, one need not go very far 
to find the principles of social organization. They 
have been revealed by God Himself, and are taught 
by the Church. The crime of the eighteenth cen- 
tury consisted precisely in ignoring these principles, 
and in having fiercely attacked the Church. Ac- 
cording to Saint-Simon, on the contrary, the eight- 
eenth century was right in entirely overthrowing 
principles bred by superstition, ignorance and _ bar- 
barism. Like most men of the second half of the 


THE SOCIAL REFORMERS. 355 


eighteenth century, he was by nature an unbeliever. 
He maintained for a long time without the slight- 
est feeling of embarrassment that ‘‘deism’’ should 
be left to the people, while philosophers must rise 
to “‘physicism.’’ Toward the close of his life, how- 
ever, he began to think of founding a religion of his 
own; but still religion presented itself to him as ‘‘a 
political institution tending towards the general 
organization of mankind,’’ or, more precisely, “‘the 
body of applications of general science by means of 
which enlightened men govern the ignorant.’’ 
Saint-Simon has indeed a faith, but his faith is the 
same that inspired Condorcet: it is faith in progress. 
The Golden Age, which a blind tradition has hitherto 
placed in the past, lies before us. We must forsake 
the false and disheartening notion that good has 
preceded evil; we must establish the comforting 
and inspiriting notion that our labors will increase 
the welfare of ourchildren. This is an ‘‘essentially 
idea. This progress depends chiefly 
upon the advancement of science, about which Saint- 
Simon gave perhaps some of his most original and 
helpful views. He indeed pointed out before Au- 
guste Comte the onward process of the sciences 
and of philosophy towards a positive form, and 


? 


religious’ 


showed that progress is dependent on the disap- 
pearance of metaphysical hypotheses. He dis- 
tinctly foresaw what scientific psychology and 
social science would be; but hastened to cast aside 
purely scientific questions (in which, moreover, he 
sometimes blundered) and to come to what he 


356 | MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


thought the all-important problem of “‘social reor- 
ganization. All nations tend to one goal, viz.: to 
pass on from the governmental, feudal, military 
system to the adminstrative, industrial, pacific 
system. The moment for such a change has come, 
and Saint-Simon believes himself destined to play 
the part assigned by the eighteenth century to the 


rg 


‘“legislators.’’ 

First of all, there must be in society thus “‘reor- 
ganized’’ a temporal power and a spiritual power, 
distinct from each other. This division existed even 
in the Middle Ages; it kept all European nations 
united for several centuries under the hegemony of 
the popes, and is “‘so perfect, that nothing better 
can be conceived.’’ Now the temporal power is to 
pass from the hands of the noblemen and military 
men into those of manufacturers and producers, and 
the spiritual power is to belong to men of science 
and to artists; for the new system must be based on 
principles derived from the nature of things, and 
independent of passing beliefs and transient opin- 
ions. The clergy must be the most learned body, 
or else the most learned body will seize possession 
of priestly offices. 

The supreme principle of morals is henceforth to 
be this: ‘‘All men must work.’’ Hence the con- 
demnation of idleness, and Saint-Simon’s vigorous 
attacks against the ‘“‘drones’’ that live at the 
expense of producers, attacks in which the antago- 
nism between labor and capital, between the richer 


THE SOCIAL REFORMERS. SEV 


classes and the proletariat, was already beginning 
to be felt. 

Lastly, towards the end of his life, Saint-Simon 
promulgated the idea of a new Christianity. The 
work of the first apostles had for many years past 
been misjudged and ignored; Roman Catholics as 
well as Protestants were now both heretics. ‘* Defini- 
tive’’ Christianity must take up again the inter- 
rupted tradition of primitive Christianity; that is to 
say, it must devote itself solely to a social reorgan- 
ization intended for the physical and moral improve- 
ment of the poorer classes. 

It is not our purpose here to study the Saint- 
Simonian school, notwithstanding the interest excit- 
ed by its economical and social doctrines. We are 
likewise obliged to pass by such interesting thinkers 
as Pierre: Leroux and Proudhon, whose works 
belong rather to the history of social theories than 
to that of philosophy. Still we cannot help men- 
tioning at least another Utopian reformer perhaps as 
original as St. Simon: Charles Fourier. As early 
as 1808 he had published his 7héorze des Quatre 
Mouvements. The censure he passes therein upon 
‘*civilization,’’ and upon the philosophers who are 
the theorists and apologists of it, is unmercifully | 
clear-sighted. Drawing his inspiration evidently 
from Rousseau, but being far more precise in his 
descriptions, he throws a strong light upon the 
incoherency, the hypocrisy, the waste of strength 
and wealth, the misery and oppression in the midst 
of which our modern society is living, and yet not 


358 | MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


without a secret feeling of complacency that induces 
it to deem itself superior in culture and refinement 
to all the preceding ages. Fourier then boldly 
proceeds to state the economical and social causes 
of the disease to which civilized nations are a prey, 
and in so doing proves the optimism adopted by 
many philosophers of the eighteenth century wholly 
untenable. 

But Fourier himself, when he abandons the réle 
of critic and expounds his own doctrine, paralyzes 
us by the candor of his optimism. He does not 
doubt that happiness may be secured for all in the 
society he dreams of, when men shall live ‘‘harmo- 
niously’’ together, instead of living ina “‘civilized’’ 
state; when their passions (which must needs be 
good, since they are given by God), whose repres-— 
sion makes them noxious, shall no longer be 
repressed, but shall find in a properly organized 
society their free, natural and innocent exercise. 

Such dreams now appear to us almost childish; 
yet mighty minds in their youth have been carried 
away by them. How many men of great ability 
have at first been Saint-Simonians or Fourierists! 
Filled with enthusiasm for doctrines which prom- 
ised less social inequality, more justice, more wel- 
fare and enlightenment for all, they were enrap- 
tured by a generous feeling of human solidarity. 
Such were in their youth many distinguished scien- 
tific men, engineers, manufacturers, and at least 
two philosophers, Auguste Comte and M. Renou- 
vier. 


AUGUSTE COMTE. 359 


With Auguste Comte something reappears which 
had not been seen in France for a long time: 
an original system of philosophy, borrowing its 
principles neither from the English nor from the 
Germans, and endeavoring to give a final solution 
to the problems of theory and practice. So that, 
while the doctrines of Saint-Simon and Fourier en- 
_gendered scarcely anything but sects, or private 
churches, which, after a short period of fame and 
popularity, vegetated on without exercising any 
visible effect upon the world around, the philoso- 
phy of Comte had a quite different fate. Inde- 
pendently of the Positivist church, which still has 
followers in France, in England, and in both 
Americas, the spirit of the doctrine spread all over 
the world, and its influence has been so consider- 
able that the advent of this doctrine may be reck- 
oned among the most important events of this 
century. 

This very fact is enough to show the absurdity 
of the question often raised as to the originality of 
Auguste Comte; a borrowed thought could never 
have had such universal and deep influence. He 
has been reproached with having done hardly any- 
thing beyond reducing to a system the ideas he 
received from the philosophers of the eighteenth 
century, and particularly from Dr. Burdin and from 
Saint-Simon. But he never denied his indebtedness 
to his predecessors, except perhaps as regards Saint- 
Simonswatten! theimirupturentercalls) *@ondorcet 
“his spiritual father,’’ and openly considers himself 


360 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


as the successor—and rectifier—of the eighteenth 
century. From Dr. Burdin we have only indica- 
tions, interesting indeed, but merely sketched, of 
the positive classification of the sciences. And 
finally, even granting that many ideas were sug- 
gested to Comte by Saint-Simon, it is sufficient to 
read both of them in order to see how much was 
left for the disciple to do, and how far he surpassed 
his master. Saint-Simon advances by disconnected 
spurts, and inconsistency does not embarrass him. 
He seems always completely engrossed by the 
thought of the moment; if that does not agree with 
his previous utterances, so much the worse for 
them; he cares but very little. Comte’s philosophy, 
on the contrary, is admirably consistent throughout. 
Being so rich in particular ideas as to have been 
used as a storehouse by many writers who borrowed 
from it the essential part of their doctrines, it is so 
carefully arranged that we are always able to see 
how those particular ideas are connected with the 
general principles. In one word, Auguste Comte 
thinks as a philosopher, and his system is among 
the best-constructed ones that have ever been put 
forth. It matters little, then, whether most of the 
ideas he linked together into this powerful system 
had been expressed before, scattered here and 
there; it is he who, by joining them into one sys- 
tem, gave them most of their virtue and value. 
According to A. Comte, the modern world is 
in a state of crisis. The eighteenth century had 
just achieved a work of dissolution and destruction 


AUGUSTE COMTE. 3601 


which had been begun as early as the end of the 
Middle Ages. It finally destroyed the principles 
and beliefs on which the social system of Europe 
Wasebasea.. But can ethisiustatemlases aN On. 10r 
human societies have spiritual as well as material 
conditions of existence. In order that they may 
live there must be concord among minds, opinions 
_ must be fixed and generally accepted, and beliefs 
become common to all., This truth has been made 
amply apparent by retrograde statesmen such as 
De Maistre, Lamennais, etc., although their appli- 
cation of it was essentially false. They wished 
men to come back to the Roman Catholic faith. 
Comte thinks their attempt a hopeless one, and 
that men must look to science and philosophy for 
salvation and the means of reuniting minds. ** The ob- 
ject of all my labors,’’ he wrote in 1825, ‘‘has been 
to re-establish in society something spiritual that is 
capable of counter-balancing the influence of the 
ignoble materialism in which we are at present 
submerged.’’ The lofty ambition of the Positive 
philosophy is to give to mankind those indispensable 
moral bonds which religion has ceased to supply. 
We have already met with thoughts and pro- 
jects of the same kind in Saint-Simon and in all 
those who at that time felt that a ‘‘destructive 
and critical’’ period must be succeeded by a ‘‘con- 
structive and organizing’ one. But what is orig- 
inal with Comte is his conception of the re- 
constructive work. Others go straight to their 
mark. So eager are they to procure for suffering 


362 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


mankind the remedy it needs, that each of them 
brings a panacea. The Traditionalists preach sub- 
missiveness to the Church; Saint-Simon proposes 
Christian socialism and a clergy of scientists; 
Fourier wishes to set up ‘“‘phalansteries.’’ All 
these attempts, says Comte, are doomed to certain 
failure. They are the very symptoms of the evil 
we have to combat, for they presume to cure 
the ills of the social body without knowing its 
structure and functions, just as in former times 
men undertook to affect nature without knowing 
physics, and to practice medicine without knowing 
physiology. The first task, upon which all the 
rest depends, is not, therefore, to found a religion 
or to transform the economic system of Europe. 
We must first of all construct a true social science, 
and a science of ‘positive politics.’’ ‘‘I am, and will 
be, simply a theorist,’’ Comte writes; ‘‘I shall 
look upon all discussions bearing upon constitutions 
as nonsense pure and simple, until the spiritual 
reorganization of society is effected, or at least 
well under way.”’ 

The mental and moral anarchy in which Europe 
now is, shows itself in ever-recurring revolutionary 
outbursts, in as surely recurring reactions, and in 
the see-saw movements of parties equally eager 
for strife and powerless to establish anything per- 
manent. But how can we re-establish strong 
common convictions and concord among minds 
while harmony is wanting in each individual mind, 
while social disorder remains a token and conse- 


AUGUSTE COMTE. 363 


quence of the troubled state in which everybody’s 
feelings and ideas are involved? On the other 
hand, if we suppose ‘‘mental harmony’’ to be once 
established in an individual, it will before long be 
imparted to others, since the same demonstrations 
must have the same value in their eyes as in his. 
The problem of ‘‘spiritual reorganization’’ can 
therefore be set forth in the following terms: ‘‘To 
find a theory which will establish a conception of 
nature, of man, and of society, logically harmonious 
and sufficiently evident to convince all minds.’’ 
We are here very far from Utopia and the dream 
of social perfection, for this problem of Comte is 
one pre-eminently philosophical. 

Now the want of harmony under which men’s 
minds labor is due essentially to the simultaneous 
presence within them of three different and even 
opposite modes of thought which are at strife, and 
no one of which can as yet completely subdue the 
other two. Ofcertain objects we judge in a scien- 
tific and positive way; for instance, we reduce 
the motion of celestial bodies in the solar system 
to problems of mechanics. We are thus able to 
foretell astronomical phenomena with some ac- 
curacy, and knowing the laws which prevail in 
these phenomena we no longer think of seeking 
their cause or end. On other points we think as 
metaphysicians; for instance, psychological phe- 
nomena, such as thought, consciousness and mem- 
ory, we think cannot be explained without 
supposing an extra-phenomenal reality, a_ self- 


364 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


existing principle, which we call the soul. And 
lastly, when we consider the whole of the universe, 
or the succession of great historical events, we 
think we recognize in these the action of a supreme, 
intelligent and all-powerful cause, tending to an 
end which in fact escapes us, and we think as 
theologians. 

The theological mode of thought predominates 
chiefly in the child. For when contact with the 
outer world first rouses reflection in man, he begins 
by supposing everywhere, behind all phenomena, 
beings similar to himself, who act with a purpose. 
By degrees, as he notices the perfectly regular recur- 
rence of certain phenomena, he ceases to postulate 
an act of volition in order to explain each as it 
occurs; he next imagines substances, forms, immov- - 
able and eternal ‘‘ideas,’’ wherewith to account 
for all that is individual and transient. Lastly, in 
his mature years, he imagines less; he observes and 
reasons more; he abstains from seeking after causes 
and substances, and pursues henceforth only the 
knowledge of laws. 

But this transition from one mode of thought to 
another is never methodical or complete; some 
traees of the first are found in the second, and some 
of the first two in the third. And above all, should 
we consider the evolution of the individual mind 
alone, we should never have discovered this law; 
here the evolution is too brief, too rapid, while it is 
veiled and even disfigured by the powerful influence 
of education, which takes each new generation from 


AUGUSTE COMTE. 365 


the outset to the point reached by the collective 
generations of the past! But consider the evolution 
of the whole of mankind and this great law at once 
appears: human thought passes from the theological 
stage to the metaphysical, and from the metaphys- 
ical to the positive. The metaphysical stage is 
in fact an unstable condition, a transition between 
the theological stage which is going to pieces and 
the positive stage which is being prepared. 

There are, then, really but two mental attitudes 
wherein the human mind finds itself upon a firm 
and durable basis, and in which it can reduce its 
conception of the universe toa system. The first 
consists in seeking out the cause, essence and end of 
all existing things, in trying to explain phenomena 
and their laws, in pursuing, in a word, the knowl- 
edge of the absolute. The second consists in being 
contented with the knowledge of the relative, which 
alone is within our reach, and with the determina- 
tion of the laws which enable us to predict phenom- 
ena. The former constantly hopes that natural 
phenomena may suddenly be transformed in favor of 
man, since to bring about such a result it would be 
sufficient to conciliate the divine will upon which 
phenomena depend. The latter knows, according 
to Bacon’s expression, that man’s power over nature 
is measured by his knowledge, and that natural 
phenomena can never be altered except in accord- 
ance with their laws. 

The history of the sciences shows by a great 
many examples that in spite of desperate resistance 


366 = MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


and often lamentable strifes the first attitude is 
gradually replaced by the second. Man _ first 
adopted the simplest anthropomorphic and theclog- 
ical explanation of the celestial phenomena which at- 
tracted his attention. He conceived the earth to be 
the center of the universe, and man himself the final 
goal of creation; he imagined the stars to be gods,and 
their regular motion to be the expression of divine 
wisdom. By degrees, he became aware that he was 
an inhabitant of a remote district in the universe, 
and that the orbits of the planets were predeter- 
mined by necessary laws. And yet it is scarcely 
more than a century since men of science ceased to 
require some intervention of divine will in celestial 
dynamics. Even in our days there are to be found 
in physics unmistakable traces of the metaphysical 
spirit, and to a still greater degree in physiology 
and the moral sciences) But still, )as> time (moves 
forward, science evidently tends to assume a more 
and more positive form, to free itself more and more 
from unverifiable hypotheses, and to restrict itself 
systematically to the knowledge of the laws which 
govern phenomena. Will not the harmony among 
minds which we seek be realized on the day when 
the victory of the positive spirit is complete, and is 
not this victory the necessary outcome of a self- 
accomplished evolution? 

Without doubt the march of progress is of this 
nature; yet the solution of the problem is not so sim- 
ple. There are positions from which the positive 
spirit, as manifested hitherto in science, is powerless 


AUGUSTE COMTE. 367 


to drive out the metaphysical and theological spirit. 
Theology and metaphysics have not only afforded 
to man in past times a temporary explanation of 
certain natural phenomena, but they have also sup- 
plied and are still supplying him with a general 
view of the universe, a conception of mankind, of 
its destiny, of the use it must make of its forces, in 
short, with a rule of conduct anda discipline. There 
lies the secret of the tenacity with which men cling 
to their religious and metaphysical beliefs. They 
find here an answer to what are to them vital ques- 
tions; and they will never forsake these points of 
view, unless a better answer to those questions 
comes to them from elsewhere. Now the positive 
spirit has hitherto offered them none. It tends to 
correct and transform each science considered sepa- 
rately, but it does not offer a single principle to 
regulate the mutual relations of the sciences, nor, 
it may be said with still greater force, does it offer 
one to regulate the relations between science in 
general and the other forms of human activity. In 
a word, the positive spirit has represented hitherto 
the partial and special point of view, whereas phil- 
osophic systems and religions represent the synthet- 
ical and general point of view. Now the latter point 
of view is no less indispensable to man than the 
former; so indispensable, indeed, that we cannot 
think that man will ever abandon it so long as his 
reflection is directed either upon himself or upon 
the universe. 

If therefore the present crisis is due to the co- 


368 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


existence in men’s souls of the positive spirit and 
the metaphysical and theological spirit, which ac- 
cording to A. Comte are mutually exclusive, and 
yet if the demands of the metaphysical spirit are 
as well-founded in the general point of view as 
those of the positive spirit are in the special scien- 
tific point of view, what will be the issue of this 
conflict? De Maistre, who is perfectly consistent, 
wishes man to renounce utterly the positive spirit, 
and to return to the mental and moral unity of the 
Middle Ages. A logical but manifestly absurd 
solution. Human intelligence never takes the 
backward track; it has achieved too many imper- 
ishable acquisitions. But if the theological and 
metaphysical spirit can under no circumstances 
afford the desired solution, cannot the positive 
spirit do so under certain conditions? What is 
wanting in it that it cannot constitute the ‘‘mental 
harmony’’ that we seek, give a scientific answer to 
moral and social questions, and prescribe rules for 
human life and for science itself? Let us now sup- 
pose the positive method to be applied not only to 
certain classes of phenomena but to all phenomena 
in the universe, including social and moral phe- 
nomena; let us suppose that the positive point of 
view ceases thus to be partial and special and be- 
comes universal and general; that the sciences, in 
short, instead of progressing separately are united 
and disciplined by a positive philosophy: shall we 
not thus obtain real mental harmony by means of 
unity in method and homogeneity in thought? 


AUGUSTE COMTE. 369 


Then the domination of the positive spirit will be 
fully and entirely established, since it will have 
actually ‘‘replaced’’ all that the theological and 
metaphysical spirit formerly afforded to mankind. 

All is then reduced to the supreme question: 
Whether the positive spirit can, from the special 
province it now rules, rise to the government of 
the universal realm; and whether there can be, not 
only positive natural sciences but positive morals, 
politics and religion? ‘‘Yes,’’ answers Auguste 
Comte, “‘all this is possible, if a positive social 
science be possible.’’ Comte therefore endeavors 
chiefly to constitute this social science. There 
lies the clue to the system, there les the solution 
of that threefold problem, scientific, moral and 
religious which he proposed to himself. ‘‘The cre- 
ation of sociology,’’ he says, ‘‘now comes to con- 
stitute the fundamental unity in the whole system 
of modern philosophy.”’ 


Why did it not come sooner? To this question 
sociology itself gives the answer. It shows that 
the progress of mankind takes place according to 
necessary laws, and that any social phenomenon, 
the founding of a new science for instance, is pos- 
sible only when all the indispensable conditions are 
in conjunction. Thus, in order that moral and 
social phenomena might become the object of a 
positive science and be studied by the same 
method as the other natural phenomena, that is, by 
observation and the inductive method, it required 


370 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


nothing less than the moral, intellectual and re- 
ligious state of Europe, and particularly of France, 
in the beginning of the nineteenth century. It 
was necessary that the system of ideas and beliefs 
on which the Middle Ages had thriven should have 
slowly dissolved, that criticism should have gradu- 
ally undermined its principles, that, screened by 
metaphysics, and with the help of the advancement 
of science, the rudiments of a new system should 
have been prepared; lastly, it was necessary that 
the great shock of the French Revolution should 
have made evident to all eyes the impossibility 
either of holding to the old principles or of found- 
ing anything new on the purely critical ideas of 
‘“philosophers.’’ At this stage of events, and only 
then, could sociology become a science. And if, 
instead of considering the whole evolution of 
European society, we examine only the evolution 
of the sciences, the same law will appear evident to 
us. In any science discoveries can take place only 
according toa certain order; Kepler comes after 
Copernicus, and Newton after Kepler. In the 
series of the sciences, each can become positive 
only after the preceding ones have attained a cer- 
tain degree of development and positiveness. 

This idea of the hierarchy of the sciences, under 
the name of classification of sciences, plays a lead- 
ing part in the Positive philosophy. It is one of 
the points in the system which are more generally 
known and at the same time one of the most im- 
perfectly known. In this classification Comte 


AUGUSTE COMTE. 371 


deals only with theoretical sciences, and among 
these with abstract sciences only. He classifies 
them in accordance with their decreasing generality 
and the increasing complexity of the phenomena 
studied in them; and so he reckons six funda- 
mental sciences, mathematics, astronomy, physics, 
chemistry, biology, sociology. «This simple and 
_ clear classification, which upon the whole corres- 
ponds fairly to the order in which these sciences 
have developed, has been commonly adopted by 
scientific men, who have found it convenient. But 
it has been somewhat sharply criticized by phi- 
losophers, by Mr. Herbert Spencer, for instance, 
who endeavored to show that it did not answer the 
conditions of an exact and complete classification. 
No doubt Comte would have replied that he had 
not pretended to give such a classification. Itis a 
problem which he did not wish to treat completely. 
The proof of this is that when distinguishing be- - 
tween abstract and concrete sciences he made no 
attempt to classify the latter. His classification of 
the sciences expresses chiefly their order of depend- 
enoyni from vay positive mpointmorenview.\) i achtof 
them presupposes the preceding ones and is not 
presumed by them. Thus geometry has no need 
of astronomy; but astronomy, on the contrary, 
could not begin to become a science until after the 
achievements of Greek geometricians. Physics 
presupposes mechanics and astronomy; chemistry 
in its turn presumes physics. Phenomena pertain- 
ing to living bodies are subjected to the laws of 


372 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


mechanics, physics, chemistry, and besides to 
special biological laws. Along with each new 
order of phenomena depending on simpler and 
more general phenomena there appears a new 
science which supposes the preceding sciences to 
have been first constituted. 

Social phenomena being the most complex of 
all, sociology is accordingly the positive science 
which we must expect to be the last organized. 
The political illusions still dominant in our days, 
not only among the lower classes but among well- 
informed persons and even among statesmen, show 
sufficiently that men are as yet scarcely accustomed 
to consider social facts from a positive point of 
view. Can we wonder at this when positive 
biology itself is quite recent, dating only from the 
end of the eighteenth century? And yet, until the 
latter science had attained a certain degree of de- 
velopment no positive sociology was possible. 

This is why all constructive attempts at sociol- 
ogy made by Comte’s predecessors were necessarily 
imperfect, and are merely monuments to the 
genius of their authors. Thus Montesquieu 
clearly saw in advance of his time that social 
phenomena as well as all others are regulated by 
laws; but as he lacked biological knowledge he 
failed in his endeavor to determine these laws, ex- 
aggerated the importance of climate, which is but 
a secondary circumstance, and made _ his social 
science end in a panegyric of the English consti- 
tution. Condorcet was aware of the fundamental 


AUGUSTE COMTE. 373 


law of progress; but having engaged in the phi- 
losopher’s war against the theological and feudal 
system, he condemned the great epoch of the 
Middle Ages because he did not understand it. 
If Comte was more fortunate in being able at last 
to found positive sociology it was because he came 
aiter Cabanis, Bichat and Gali, who laid the .defi- 
_ nite foundations of scientific biology. 

But how comes it that in this enumeration of 
fundamental sciences psychology is passed over in 
silence? Is not here a gap that imperils the whole 
system? So at least Stuart Mill thought, and this 
was one of the chief reasons which prevented him 
from adhering to Comte’s philosophy. Mr. Herbert 
Spencer in his vast philosophical synthesis inserted 
Principles of Psychology between his Principles of 
Biology and his Principles of Sociology. But it 
was Comte’s opinion, as also that of Cabanis and 
Bichat, that pyschological functions are not to be 
studied apart from the organs which are their 
necessary conditions, and that there is conse- 
quently no need to separate psychology from biol- 
ogy. But this is a mere question of form, and 
should we infer therefrom that there is no psychol- 
ogy in Comte, we would be entirely wrong. How 
could this be lacking in a doctrine the essential 
principle of which is the historical development of 
human thought? 

Comte, indeed, does not believe the subjective 
observation of the phenomena of the soul to bea 
scientific method of discovering their laws. He 


374. MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


severely criticizes Cousin’s so-called psychological 
method. He tries, in order to connect the 
function with the organ, to assign to each faculty 
a distinct anatomic region in the brain; he very 
properly insists that man’s intelligence shall no 
longer be considered as differing in kind from the 
instinct of animals; and he commends the study of 
comparative psychology and mental pathology. 
When he condemns the psychology of his pred- 
ecessors he means above all Condillac and his 
school, whose analyses of “‘the origin of our ideas’’ 
were at the least as logical as they were psycho- 
logical. Comte deemed them incomplete, false 
and dangerous, inasmuch as they tended to repre- 
sent man as “‘a reasoning and isolated being.’’ To 
him this was a twofold error; for, in the first place, 
affectional functions, feelings and passions, are 
infinitely more energetic in man, and play a far 
more decisive part in his life than intellectual 
functions; and, in the second place, the worst way 
to arrive at an understanding of man is to consider 
him individually, for there is no distinctively human 
phenomenon which is not at the same time a social 
phenomenon. We ought not to interpret humanity 
by man, but, on the contrary, we ought to inter- 
pret man by humanity. Therefore the self- 
analysis of an individual mind, however profound 
and acute we may suppose it to be, can never 
reveal the laws of knowledge. It is the develop- 
ment of mankind which alone permits us to dis- 
cover the laws which govern the progress of the 


AUGUSTE COMTE, 375 


human mind. This it was which enabled Comte 
to lay down the fundamental law of “‘the three 
stages;’’ in a word, a positive theory of knowledge 
is inseparable from sociology. 

Positive philosophy, therefore, studies psycho- 
logical phenomena as well as other natural phenom- 
ena; but it refuses to study them otherwise than it 
_does the others, that is, to separate them from the 
other classes of facts with which they are connected 
and upon which they depend. It ignores here, as 
everywhere else, the consideration of causes and 
essences, and deals only with laws. It does 
not wonder that the opposition of metaphysicians 
is particularly strong and tenacious on questions in 
which morals and religion are particularly concerned. 


In order to determine what science is, Comte, 
according to his method, contents himself with 
opposing the characteristics of positive to those 
of non-positive knowledge. Science deals not 
with facts, but with laws. The knowledge of 
a fact has no scientific value in itself; it is the same 
as regards the knowledge of any number of facts, 
which merely deserves the name of erudition. Science 
begins when we can substitute the prevision of 
phenomena for the direct observation of them; 
that is, when we have discovered the constant con- 
nection which permits us from the presence of a 
certain fact to infer another determined fact. Those 
who believe that the accumulation of facts consti- 
tutes science mistake a stone-quarry for an edifice. 


376 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Even very early and when still far from the positive 
method the human mind cannot be contented with 
the mere statement of facts. It demands a theory 
in order to group together those it is acquainted 
with, and to observe new ones. Just at this point 
the theological conception of nature is particularly 
valuable. As it arises spontaneously in the mind, 
its appearance does not depend upon the observa- 
tion of phenomena, and yet it permits such obser- 
vation, which gradually supplants it, first by a 
metaphysical, then by a positive view of nature. 

The great school for positiveness is the science 
of mathematics. In this preéminently scientific 
study the mind learns, to use Descartes’s own words, 
not to feed upon sham reasons. It becomes trained 
in the practice of the different forms of reasoning. 
Mathematics is the very school for logic. There is 
no other. We learn the art of seeking the truth 
only through seeking it; so that the education of 
the man of science should always begin with the 
study of mathematics. But though necessary, this 
study is not sufficient; nay, nothing would be so 
fatal to the advancement of our knowledge as the 
exclusive domination of the mathematical spirit over 
all the positive sciences. 

Together with the rise of sciences of the inor- 
ganic world, astronomy, physics, and chemistry, 
the experimental method appears. It teaches the 
legitimate use of hypotheses, makes clear the idea 
of natural /aws, and, in so doing, deals the most 
telling blow to the theological conception of nature. 


AUGUSTE COMTE. SHA 


The experimental method rids man of the error of 
taking himself to be the center of the world, reveals 
to him his inability to discover causes, and par- 
ticularly final causes, and teaches him to gain a 
definite though limited power through the knowl- 
edge of laws. ‘‘Let us know, in order to foresee, 
in order to provide.”’ 
When we pass on from inanimate nature to the 
organic world, from physics and chemistry to biol- 
ogy, the positive method increases proportionately in 
richness. Instead of mathematical ciphering, which 
cannot be applied to such unsettled and complex 
phenomena, instead of experimenting, which is 
almost impracticable on living beings, the biologist 
will make use of the comparative method, which 
has been found to be so extremely fruitful. More- 
over, while the sciences before named could examine 
isolated phenomena in pairs and determine the 
simple relations between antecedent and conse- 
quent, biological phenomena are so entirely subor- 
dinate to one another that he who studies them 
must constantly take into account the action of all 
upon each and of each upon all. Details here 
become intelligible only as referred to the whole. 
And this is truer still of sociology than of biology, 
since harmony in a human society is still more com- 
plex and abounding than ina living body, and since 
we must resort to history in order to understand it. 
Each of the fundamental sciences, therefore, adds 
to the positive method something especially its own. 
The omission of any one of them would baffle any 


378 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE, 


attempt to organize the sciences that come after, 
and consequently the Positive philosophy which 
appears along with the last of them. Thus in the 
system of Auguste Comte there is a two-fold course 
to be pursued by the mind: first, an ascending 
course, starting from the lowest stage of reality, 
from the geometrical, the most simple and general 
of phenomena, and rising progressively to the highest 
degree, to social phenomena, the most complex 
and special of all. This summit being reached, a 
science both positive and universal is then consti- 
tuted. Thereupon begins a descending course from 
sociology to the other sciences, in which the mind 
assigns to each of them from the standpoint of 
positive philosophy the goal it should pursue, the 
limit to its researches, and its proper subordination 
to the whole of human culture, which in turn is 
subordinate to morals and religion. 

Comte endeavors in this way to secure at once 
the interconnection and the independence of the 
fundamental sciences. Nothing is further from his 
thought than to seek a single supreme law for all 
phenomena in the universe, as had been done by 
Saint-Simon, who fancied that he had found this 
law in Newton’s universal attraction. Comte posi- 
tively condemns any attempt to seek ‘‘such a unity 
at once chimerical and injurious.’’ According to 
him, the different classes of phenomena which are 
the object of the fundamental sciences cannot be 
reduced oneto another. They are conditions one 


AUGUSTE COMTE. BV AS) 


of another, but they are not identical, and as the 
simpler sciences are always naturally further ad- 
vanced than the more complex, Comte recommends 
the latter to defend themselves against the encroach- 
ments of the former. Thus, physicists should 
beware of ‘‘the thralldom of algebra.’’ There is in 
physical phenomena something which is not to be 
reduced to mechanics. Similarly, when we pass on 
from physics to chemistry, from chemistry to biol- 
ogy, from biology to sociology, there appears at 
each step a richer form of reality which we should 
fail to appreciate if we meant to explain “‘what is 
superior by what is inferior.’’ The only unity 
which is necessary and sufficient in science is 
the unity of method, which secures “‘homogeneity 
of thought,’’ and this unity has been effected by 
the organization of sociology. 

The search for a single supreme law for all 
phenomena springs at bottom from the same instinct 
as the search for causes, ends, and substances; it is 
still the metaphysical instinct in search of the abso- 
lute. But Positive philosophy tends only to the 
knowledge of what is relative, as the only knowledge 
accessible to man. True, it seeks to reduce more 
special to more general laws; but it finds that there 
are laws which do not yield to this process, It 
establishes the unity of science only from a socio- 
logical point of view. Now, in one sense, sociology 
depends upon all otmer sciences, and again, in 
another sense, it dominates them all. 


380 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Comte divides sociology into social statics and 
dynamics, according as it studies societies at a 
given period, or in the regular progression of their 
successive stages: it is the distinction between rest 
and movement, between order and progress. But 
the laws of statics themselves are to be discovered 
best by observing a society in action; since when a 
certain category of social phenomena undergoes a 
change, all the others, by virtue of their interde- 
pendence, vary simultaneously. Religion, art, 
morals, civilization, economic conditions, political 
constitution, scientific knowledge, are all so many 
aspects of social life, which may be said to be func- 
tions one of another. : 

The most general law of social statics, at least as 
regards human societies, was pointed out by Aris- 
totle; it is the law of the separation of functions 
and of the combination of efforts. In fact, but for 
the separation of functions, societies would be mere 
agglomerations of families, and the division of labor 
would not exist, and yet this division is the neces- 
sary condition of a multiplicity of social phenom- 
ena: )) the #vincrease ‘of: ‘society, ithe “tormationser 
classes or castes, the divergence of ideas and man- 
ners, and lastly the institution of a dual govern- 
ment (spiritual and temporal) which, in Comte’s 
beautiful definition, represents Jl’esprit ad’ ensemble 
dans la soctété. 

Comte studies social dynamics in the develop- 
ment of civilized mankind, and more especially in 
that of the Caucasian race. Provisionally he omits 


AUGUSTE COMTE. 381 


in his account of human evolution the black and 
yellow races, merely saying that they will be 
included in it later on when the more advanced 
part of mankind has fully reached the positive 
period. The essential law of social dynamics is 
progress. The ancients were inevitably ignorant of 
it. Though more or less dimly perceived by such 
modern thinkers as Pascal, Fontenelle, Turgot, and 
above all Condorcet and Kant, it could not find its 
definitive expression until the French Revolution 
had enabled men to conceive the ascending course 
from the Greco-Roman system to the system of the 
Middle Ages, and from the latter to the positive 
system. So long as the comparison was limited to 
the two former terms, an essential element was 
lacking for the idea of progress. 

Progress does not necessarily mean bettering, or 
endless improvement. Progress, in sociology as 
elsewhere, merely expresses a succession of stages 
reculated by laws. °° Thevpresent, “said ‘Leibniz; 
mist iulleolsthe past, ‘andwoie withthe future.’ ( 
The evolution undergone by a living being, all the 
phases it goes through from its embryo state to its 
adult form, is an excellent illustration of progress. 
Progress;. says Comte isthe development. of 
order.’’ To conceive progress under its most gen- 
eral aspect, is to conceive order as susceptible of 
development; and this conception, wonderfully 
applicable to biological and sociological phenom- 
ena, also finds employment in mathematics. It is 
what Comte calls “‘an encyclopzdic law,’’ which 


382 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


enables us, without reducing all the laws in the 
world to one law, to represent them to ourselves as 
‘‘ordered and convergent.’ 

We cannot here give even a summary analysis 
of the vast philosophy of history in which Comte 
develops his sociological law of progress; but we 
are already acquainted with its most general princi- 
ple, which is the ‘‘law of the three stages.’’ Comte 
shows how mankind must have passed from fetich- 
ism, which is the earliest form of the theological 
stage, and is to be met with even in superior ani- 
mals, to polytheism, and from polytheism to 
monotheism: how afterwards metaphysics under 
the increasing impulse of the positive spirit re- 
duced monotheism to more and more colorless and 
inconsistent forms of deism, and at last reached 
the positive period. Arrived at this point, the 
human mind does not deny the absolute (atheism 
is but another sort of theology, and a most unten- 
able one); it merely abstains from seeking it, and 
is henceforth contented with seeking laws through- 
out the whole realm of reality. Thus does man- 
kind pass from an initial homogeneous state, fetich- 
ism, to a final homogeneous state, positivism; 
between the two extremes lies the history of relig- 
ions, Civilizations, and philosophies,—a succession 
of necessary revolutions, the connection of which 
constitutes history. 

Humanity, indeed, always seeks to make its 
conceptions agree with its observations, and this it 
accomplishes periodically. But, while the system 


AUGUSTE COMTE. 383 


of conceptions at which it stops remains stationary 
the number of facts and laws observed is constantly 
increasing, and a moment comes when the equilib- 
rium is again disturbed. Then the conceptions 
must once more be adapted to the acquired knowl- 
edge, and a new phase of equilibrium, as unstable 
as the preceding ones, is established. This same 
process had already led humanity out of its 
primitive theological state; for even then, some 
rudiments of the positive spirit were mingled with 
it. The most common phenomena occurred so 
regularly that man must have had at once a dim per- 
ception of the laws governing them; for instance, 
there seems never to have been any god of gravity. 
From this humble origin, and from necessity that 
spurred man’s natural sloth, sprang the scientific 
spirit, which was the main factor in the evolution 
of the human understanding, and consequently of 
the whole of civilization. 

It follows from this theory of progress that in all 
the systems of the past, in every religion, in every 
kind of metaphysics, the Positive doctrine meets no 
adversaries, but only precursors. These it does not 
need to refute; it accepts them as so many necessary 
links in the chain of the evolution of the human 
mind. ‘‘By ceasing to be absolute, Positive philos- 
ophy «ceases. to (be criticalvotmall’ the pasty *\\\) It 
alone can be just towards all philosophies. A 
Positive philosopher does not give up his right to 
judge, but he will not reproach a past epoch with 
having violated principles which it could not have 


384 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


known. In short. without dropping into either 
fatalism or optimism, Comte does not permit us to 
expect the past to be otherwise than the evolution 
of progress permitted it to be. Thus from the 
historical point of view the Positive philosophy 
appears true to its relative character, and lays down 
a principle the consequences of which are far- 
reaching. History becomes ‘“‘the sacred science’’ 
of the nineteenth century and the indispensable 
condition of all positive knowledge in morals. 

This theory of progress, as well as the theory 
of knowledge, tends, with Comte, to substitute the 
consideration of mankind for that of the individ- 
ual. We must no longer study the ‘‘Me’’ but the 
““Us.’’? The I'va0 ceavtéy which had been the prin- 
ciple of philosophical speculation since Socrates is 
replaced by the precept to civilized mankind: 
‘““Know thy history.’’ Thus Comte’s philosophy 
is indeed a “‘philosophy of humanity;’’ and through 
this central idea of humanity is effected the transi- 
tion from the theoretical doctrine to morals, politics 
and religion. 


Like Saint-Simon, and even more than Saint- 
Simon, Auguste Comte rejects the notion which 
the eighteenth century entertained of the Middle 
Ages. He sees in this period not a long night of 
barbarism, superstition and misery, but a time of 
fruitful work, in which the modern world was 
organized after a pattern superior to that of the 
ancients. One feature alone would be sufficient to 


AUGUSTE COMTE. 385 


prove the superiority of the Middle Ages over an- 
tiquity: the existence of a spiritual power, the 
power of the popes, distinct from and independent 
of the temporal power of the princes, and capable, 
if needed, of counterbalancing the latter. 

Comte is never weary of expressing his ad- 
miration for this ‘‘masterpiece of human wisdom’’ 
which for centuries preserved the unity of Christian 
Europe. It is his aspiration that the positive 
philosophy shall found a new spiritual power, 
which like the Catholic organization of the Middle 
Ages will be able to bring all minds together and 
to subordinate politics to morals. He also praises 
the moral teaching of the clergy in those centuries. 
We witness in this body an admirable social con- 
sciousness. Under a most felicitous and im- 
pressive form it made the individual feel the 
necessity of self-sacrifice and the worth of love; it 
bestowed upon all, humble and great alike, at least 
a minimum of philosophical instruction, as sum- 
med up in the catechism. In his later years Comte 
himself made the /wztation of Christ, together with 
Dante, his daily reading. 

Unfortunately this moral teaching was fettered 
by dogma to a system of beliefs which the positive 
spirit has overthrown. As the ecclesiastical system 
of morals refuses to part with its beliefs, it is 
likely to meet with a similar fate, and we see in 
fact, that on many points the loss of religious 
beliefs is accompanied by a sort of moral decay 
which threatens even the institution of family. We 


386 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


might be alarmed at this with good reason if the 
Positive philosophy, after having reorganized 
beliefs, were not prepared to reorganize morals 
likewise. 

To begin with, moral phenomena, like all social 
phenomena, depend upon other series of simpler 
and more general phenomena in the universe. 
The behaviour of man is determined in its main 
features by the conditions of the world he moves 
in. \-Lhus' the place of the’ earth “in ‘the “solar 
system, the recurrence of seasons, physical and 
chemical laws, especially the biological laws which 
determine the average duration of man’s life, and 
finally sociological laws, all together constitute a 
powerful regulator of man’s activity. Though for 
a long time ignorant of these laws, man was never- 
theless subject to their action; knowing them now 
he will not foolishly attempt to elude them, but 
here as elsewhere he may turn his knowledge to 
account by making natural laws subservient as far 
as possible to the object he has in view, and 
in passing ‘“‘from the natural to the artificial 
order,’’ which is in this case the moral order. 
Thus, as Comte says in a beautiful maxim, were 
we more intelligent it would mean being more 
moral; for when better acquainted with the grand 
fact of human solidarity: that man exists only in 
humanity, we can not help seeing that the only 
sensible rule of conduct for us is ‘‘to live for 
others.’’ And conversely, were we more moral, 
it would mean being more intelligent; for in prac- 


AUGUSTE COMTE. 387 


tising this rule we should experience a vivid and 
immediate feeling of being united to our fellow- 
creatures. 

Comte thinks with Cabanis and Gall that the 
““philosophers’’ of the eighteenth century misunder- 
stood the moral nature of man in maintaining that 
nothing was innate but that it was altogether the 
product of education. On the contrary, like all 
animals we have propensities and inclinations with 
which we are born. Biology studies the relation 
of these to our organism, and sociology studies 
their influence upon our behavior, which depends 
upon them far more than upon reflection. These 
innate propensities are of two kinds. Some of 
them are egotistical, and prompt the individual to 
seek his own preservation, welfare and happiness; 
others are altruistic and induce him to be mindful 
of others in his actions, to love his neighbour, in 
short, to find his happiness in the happiness of 
others. The moral problem is, then, as follows: To 
make altruism, which is originally the weaker feel- 
ing, predominate over egotism, which is naturally 
the stronger; or, in a word, to make “‘humanity 
predominate over animalism.’ 


, 


To suppress egotism 
is not in our power; it is even a dangerous chimera 
to think this desirable. Morality consists in subor- 
dinating it. 

And mankind would not succeed even in this 
were not the constant action of that external regu- 
lator we have just mentioned at work in the same 
direction, encouraging a spontaneous kind of moral- 


388 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


ity, of which reflective morality is but a continua- 
tion. For instance, family life and social life favor 
the almost endless increase of altruistic feelings and 
propensities. These may be developed at the same 
time in all the members of a social group, and are 
even increased by imitation and contagion. Selfish 
sentiments, on the contrary, cannot act without 
clashing against one another, and social life requires 
that a bridle be put upon allof them. But it is 
chiefly by the increase of intelligence and the de- 
velopment of Positive philosophy that the progress 
of morality may be secured, so far at least as our 
imperfect nature permits. For social science, by 
demonstrating the fundamental law of human 
solidarity, and by giving to the idea of order its 
fullest expression, shows at the same time that the 
claims of egotism are absurd, and that man is des- 
tinedstom lve 1orvotnerses 

Comte’s ethics is not therefore to be numbered 
with sentimental systems of ethics. It is rather a 
translation into positive language of the systems 
based upon the universal order, such as that of 
Spinoza or Leibniz. Only Comte separated it from 
its theological and metaphysical principles. Moral- 
ity, as well as science, previously considered as 
absolute, has now become relative. One and the 
same law has prevailed in the evolution of the 
human conscience and of the human intellect. 

We live zz Humanity and ¢hrough Humanity, says 
science. We must live for Humanity, says morality. 
Thence follow a pedagogy, a statecraft and a 


AUGUSTE COMTE. 389 


religion closely linked together, and based on the 
same principles. 

Education is to be directed entirely towards 
securing the harmony of minds. The object is to 
fill them with strong common convictions, and in 
this positive science and philosophy alone can suc- 
ceed. Not that it is incumbent upon everyone, or 
even possible for everyone, to test the value and 
certainty of this science and philosophy. And it 
is sufficient that those who are able to do so should 
find in them nothing that their reason refuses to 
accept. Others must trust to the testimony of 
those who have made this test. How many men 
are now qualified to criticize and verify the theory 
of the solar system? Yet everybody accepts it, 
and this confidence is considered to be reasonable. 
It will be the same with all philosophy when we 
haye fully, entered the /positive)) period; andthe 
unanimity of assent will then produce an intensity 
of belief we can with difficulty picture to ourselves. 

Comte’s statecraft can hardly be separated from 
his religion, its first principle being the distinction 
between the temporal and the spiritual power. The 
latter is to be the prerogative of a clergy composed 
of men of science, who are to be at the same time 
the educators of youth and the priests of that 
humanity which is the supreme object of Comte’s 
religion. Humanity, which he also calls the 
Great @Being.) y1s) deined@ases the tunion; ofall 
beings, past, present and future, who freely con- 
tribute to the perfection of the universal order. 


1 


390 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Its two essential attributes are solidarity and con- 
tinuity. The solidarity of human society is the 
closest and most perfect one offered by nature. It 
is a wonderful thing to observe how all the func- 
tions of society are performed with unchanging 
order, even in times of war and revolution,—all 
the more wonderful since those who severally con- 
tribute to it often think only of pursuing their own 
selfish ends. This happy harmony does not prevent 
the competition of individuals from remaining 
essentially free, and does not repress personal 
efforts. There is no greater error than to compare 
men to the cells of an organism or to the branches 
of a polyp. In the society depicted by Comte the 
individuality of each member of the body is quite 
compatible with the unity of the body. 

A still more marked characteristic of the ‘‘Great 
Being’’ is continuity. Thanks to this, human soci- 
ety, alone among all, has a history; thanks to this, 
the inheritance of past generations is handed down 
to the following generations; thanks to this, science, 
art and civilization are progressing. Comte found 
a striking way of expressing this continuity. 
‘‘Humanity,’’ he says, ‘‘is composed of more dead 
men than living men.’’ This is no figure of speech; 
Comte means his statement to be taken literally. 
Even as Humanity is not an abstraction, but a 
reality as real as the individuals of whom it is com- 
posed, so do the dead actually live again in us. 

Comte substitutes for the metaphysical idea of 
the immortality of the soul the positive idea of 


AUGUSTE COMTE. 391 


+) 


incorporation into the ‘‘Great Being.’’ Men whose 
behaviour has been deserving do not wholly die; 
they continue their existence in others by virtue of 
the continuity of society. Man has, therefore, two 
kinds of existence. During the first, he partici- 
pates in social life as an individual. If he under- 
goes this trial honorably, that is, if he subordinates 
in himself egotism to altruism, he enters after his 
death into a second existence, the better part of 
him is incorporated into the spiritual life of Human- 
ity. This form of immortality is free even from 
the laws of space and number. In how many men 
has not the soul of Jesus or of Plato risen from the 
dead? One can understand how the soul thus 
idealized should end only with the ‘‘Great Being.’’ 
This leads naturally to the commemoration of the 
dead, that is, to the institution of feasts in which 
the living representatives of Humanity celebrate 
the memory of its benefactors who have made it 
what it now is. 

Thus is established the religion of Humanity, 
the crown of Comte’s philosophy. He defines 
religion as ‘‘a state of perfect harmony.’’ Con- 
sidered in the individual, it is what regulates or 
fixes in him the relations between feeling, intelli- 
gence and action. Considered in society, it is what 
brings men together, or harmonizes their mutual 
intercourse. The part played by religion has been 
an exalted one in the history of mankind. It has 
been both the agent and the essential sign of prog- 
ress. The great law of social dynamics, the law 


392 MODERN. PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


of the three stages, marks the process of human 
understanding by the succession of religious forms, 
fetichism, polytheism, etc. The part of religion 
will be no less important in the positive period. 
The religion of reason does not combat revealed 
religious, but rather considers itself as their heir-at- 
law, and looks upon religious history as ‘‘a long 
minority of Humanity under the guardianship of 
God.’’ And if henceforth religion has for its ob- 
ject, instead of an absolute, perfect and eternal 
Being, an imperfect, conditioned and transient being, 
it will not be on that account any less fervent or any 
less beneficent. 

In his Politique Positive, and in his subsequent 
works, Comte undertook to prescribe in their mi- 
nutest details the dogmas, worship, and management 
of the new religion. He took pattern from the 
Catholic organization, which he looked upon as a 
masterpiece. This caused Huxley to say that 
Comte’s system was ‘“‘Catholicism minus Chris- 
tianity..’ A great many of the disciples who had 
gathered round the founder of the Positive phi- 
losophy refused to submit to the High Pontiff of 
the religion of Humanity. Those dissenters had a 
right to resume their liberty from the moment when 
the doctrine of the master ceased to meet with their 
assent. But they went further. They maintained 
that it was not they who abandoned Comte, but 
Comte who abandoned himself; that he was unfaith- 
ful to his own principles and to the positive spirit, 
and that in the Polztique Positive he was instituting, 


AUGUSTE COMTE. 393 


in accordance with the subjective method, a second 
philosophy in contradiction to the first.—It is true 
that Comte’s last works have a strong sentimental 
and mystic coloring which is absent in his first works. 
No doubt also there is something offensive and 
almost ridiculous in the pedantic precision of the 
details into which he enters in organizing the religion 
of Humanity. But the unity of his philosophical 
thought is unquestionable. He vindicated it vic- 
toriously against those whom he calls ‘‘incomplete 
Positivists.’’ ‘‘I have devoted my life,’’ he says, 
‘to deriving from the science of the real the neces- 
sary foundations of sound philosophy in accordance 
with which it was fitting for me to construct the 
true religion.’’ And to close the discussion with an 
unanswerable argument, he reprinted at the end of 
the Politique Positive his first youthful pamphlets, 
written nearly forty years previous, in which we 
find the same leading ideas throughout the doctrine, 
and see the establishment of a definitive religion to 
have been its supreme object. 

Therefore, whatever Littré may say to the con- 
trary, there were not two successive and opposing 
philosophic systems propounded by Comte. There 
was only one, which comprises at once his method, 
his statecraft, and his religion. Yet the division of 
the school corresponds to a real distinction within 
the system. In one part of his philosophy Comte 
represents the general tendencies of his century; in 
another he expresses more especially the particular 
aspirations of the generation to which he belonged. 


394. MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


This part, perhaps the most dear to its author, 
‘the thought of his youth realized in his riper 
years,’’ the creation of a new religion, was, more- 
over, the one which almost immediately withered. 
The other remained full of life, and has not yet 
ceased to bear fruits. 

Comte considers himself as the upholder and 
corrector of the philosophy of the eighteenth cen- 
tury in France, and as the successor of Descartes, 
whose work he completes. The inheritance of the 
eighteenth century is handed down to him by Con- 
dorcet, his ‘‘spiritual father’; but he is also deeply 
influenced by Joseph de Maistre, who points out 
the negative and destructive character of this phi- 
losophy. Comte does not seek to reconcile them 
(which would indeed be impossible), but to discover 
a higher point of view from which he will take in at 
a glance what truth there is in both. This point of 
view he finds on the summit of the positive social 
science. 

Descartes had considerably advanced the positive 
spirit; he was really one of the creators of modern 
philosophy. But he had attempted to group to- 
gether into a system all the natural sciences after a 
mathematical method, and the inadequacy of such 
a mode of procedure appeared more and more 
obvious as he applied it to more and more com- 
plex phenomena. Thus in biology he was led to 
the untenable paradox of animal automata; and 
when he came to man and society he was suddenly 
compelled to lay aside the positive method and to 


AUGUSTE COMTE. 395 


adopt once more the metaphysical. The fault 
does not lie with him but with the state of sciences 
in his time, for chemistry hardly existed then, and 
physiology was yet unborn. Comte takes up again 
Descartes’ work, perfects and completes it. On 
the one hand he abstains from representing the 
physical universe as a mechanism, but he states at 
once the interdependence and the independence of 
the various classes of phenomena. On the other 
hand he extends the positive method to the study 
of a// natural phenomena, even the most complex, 
thus finally securing the victory for the positive 
spirit. 

Comte is therefore a descendant of the earlier 
French philosophers. Between the philosophy of 
Descartes and his own we may observe the links in 
the chain, the chief of which are forged by Fonte- 
nelle, Montesquieu, Diderot, D’Alembert, Con- 
dorcet, Cabanis, and Bichat. Comte understood 
thoroughly the import of the scientific work accom- 
plished in the preceding century; he had also a 
presentiment of the powerful influence which the 
development of historical science was to exercise 
upon men’s minds. He perceived clearly that, 
under the influence of a philosophy which re- 
nounced the pursuit of the absolute, the aim of all 
moral, political, social and religious endeavor 
would be entirely transformed. 

So that, however vehemently the value of 
Comte’s system may be disputed when it assumes 
to take the place of either the philosophies or the 


396 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


religions of the past, we are compelled to recog- 
nize almost everywhere in the present century the 
underlying spirit of his doctrine. And not only 
the philosophies but the historical and_ scientific 
work and even the romance and the art of our 
times are deeply permeated by this spirit. 


Ch AEA Keech: 


RENAN AND TAINE 


RENAN possessed, first and foremost, a marvellous 
gift of style. Heat once took rank among classical 
writers beside the great masters of French prose. 
He was also a historian. Whatever may be the 
judgment of posterity regarding the Origines du 
Christianisme and the Historre du Peuple a’ Israel, 
the undertaking was a great one, and marks an 
epoch in this sort of study in France. But was 
Renan really a philosopher? In this field do we 
find in his numerous books anything beyond max- 
ims, opinions, beautifully expressed, but without 
any bond of unity and inner coherence? Though 
he shuns all dialectic display, and is careful never 
to give demonstrations, is there ever found in his 
writings a consistent and solid nucleus, a body of 
principles ensuring the continuity of his thought 
amidst apparent changes, paradoxes and ironies? 
Renan himself certainly thought that there was. 
To this not only his Dzalogues Philosophiques, but 
his Drames Philosophiques, and above all, L’ Avenir 
de la Science, testify expressly. The rest of his 
productions, also, and even his most special works 
of technical scholarship, as those on linguistics, 
had evidently in his mind a philosophical bearing. 
397 


398 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


After the example of his master, Burnouf, he be- 
lieved that the greatest results could often be 
obtained from the minutest analysis of details. 
The philosopher in him always stood at the elbow 
of the philologist. 

Various causes may have rendered him liable to 
misinterpretation. First, the particular nature of 
his style; he is fond of delicate shades and tints 
of meaning, and averse to peremptory and sweeping 
assertions. He must have seemed often a dilet- 
tante, who delighted in toying with ideas; and we 
cannot deny that he was pleased with his own sup- 
pleness. But this suppleness was not incompatible 
with a serious mind anda respect for truth. We 
must so completely respect truth, says Renan, as 
never to overstate it; and we already overstate truth if 
we present it without the restrictions, the extenua- 
tions, the shades, and even the doubts it implies. 
‘fA thoroughly complete work ought to leave no 
need jfor:a) refutation.) 1) Phe sreverse polmenveny 
thought ought to be pointed out, that the reader 
may see at one glance the two opposite faces of 
which every truth is composed; though this twofold 
way of thinking may occasion some uneasiness in 
readers who are fond of simplicity. 

Furthermore, it is true that Renan’s philosophy 
varied, not on the chief points, but in details, and 
above all, in the tone of expression. Being not 
only much inclined to take a broad view of the 
world and of mankind, but also very sensitive to 
the events he witnessed, Renan felt keenly the 


RENAN AND TAINE. 399 


shock with which these events reacted on him, as is 
shown by his works. The revolution of 1848 and 
the June days, the coup a’état which made Napo- 
leon the Third an emperor, the disasters of 1870, 
the final success of the Republican party in 1878, 
all in their turn exercised a powerful influence upon 
Renan’s mind, giving it, however, rather a different 
coloring than a new direction. Finally, last but 
not least among the reasons which may have caused 
Renan’s philosophy to be misconceived, it is not of 
a regular, and so to speak, classical type. It is 
not fashioned in the usual form. Its problems are 
not proposed or solved in the customary terms. 
The reason for this is that Renan composed his 
philosophy for his own use, under the pressure of 
needs peculiar to himself, such as most other men 
of his generation did not feel as he did. That he 
was able to communicate these needs to them is not 
the least part of his glory. 

Like Lamennais and Father Gratry, Renan went 
from the Roman Catholic Church to philosophy. 
But there is a wide difference between them and him. 
Lamennais, after having given his whole strength 
to attacking, with the Traditionalists, the philosophy 
of the eighteenth century, went on to develop the 
social principles he discerned in the Gospel, and to 
work out the conception of a Christian democracy. 
In his contest with Rome he did not in the least 
assail the real essence of faith; and he was justified 
in entitling one of his most vigourous pamphlets 
Paroles d’un Croyant. Father Gratry thought he 


400 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


had found a philosophical proof of what is taught 
by religious dogmas, or at least by part of them. 
His@. transcendental method 4, usted, 5 as ale 
thought, by its analogy with the transcendental 
method used in mathematics, led him to the much- 
desired reconciliation of reason and faith. Renan’s 
case is quite different. Born and bred in the Cath- 
olic faith, brought up in the thought and hope of 
becoming a priest, never having conceived any 
other ambition, and being encouraged therein by 
his family and by his teachers, he perceived at the 
age of twenty that his belief was no longer suffi- 
cient. He had ceased to be a Roman Catholic, 
and even, in the strictest sense of the word, to be 
a Christian. He had to break off all his cherished 
ties and to give up all his fondest hopes. He had 
to go back into the world and begin life anew. 

In what terms was the philosophical problem to 
present itself to him? In terms, no doubt, quite 
different from those which occurred to such men as 
Maine de Biran, Cousin, or even Auguste Comte. 
His situation was unique. He wanted a doctrine 
which would restore to him all that he had lost in 
losing faith, which would, without having recourse 
to the supernatural, supply him with an acceptable 
interpretation of the universe, and at the same time 
with a certain rule of conduct. Had he examined 
the whole of the problem—had he begun, as Des- 
cartes did, by temporarily considering as false all that 
he had hitherto thought and believed—he would 
have entered upon an undertaking unsuited to his 


RENAN AND TAINE. 401 


character and perhaps beyond his power. He 
adopted a less radical solution. Instead of devel- 
oping his doubt logically, he set limits to it. Of 
the whole system of belief that had been taught 
him, he rejected only what he saw clearly to be 
incompatible with his reason—that is to say, with 
science and criticism; he kept all the rest, and out 
of it constructed a doctrine which remained essen- 
tially religious. What he could no longer admit 
was the historical husk of religion, the narrow, one- 
sided notions, the myth that falls before the blows 
of criticism, the assumption of a supernatural 
character in the Christian revelation; whereas he 
knew that we have here to deal with a phenome- 
non in all respects similar to that of the appear- 
ance of Buddhism, Islamism, etc. But in the very 
essence of religion, the mystery of divinity, and of 
man’s participation in it, Renan did not cease to 
believe. 

His philosophy must therefore needs be a secu- 
larized and rationalized form of his faith. He was 
sorry for a rupture which grieved his dearest friends, 
but there was within him neither the anguish of 
moral upheaval nor an intellectual crisis. ‘‘To all 
these outward revolutions there corresponded no 
inward revolution. I have learned several things, 
but I have changed in nowise as to the general sys- 
tem of intellectual and moral life. My habitation 
has become more spacious, but it still stands on the 
same ground. I look upon my estrangement from 
orthodoxy as only a change of opinion concerning 


402 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


an important historical question, a change which 
does not prevent me from dwelling on the same 
foundations as before. I accept and preserve all 
the practical and speculative traditions of my past, 
intending subsequently to correct them by the 
logical results of my thoughts and studies.”’ 

Thus Renan’s philosophy does not stand in 
opposition to religion, and has no intention of tak- 
ing its place. Nothing can replace religion. It 
forms part of the very definition of humanity. 
Without it man falls to the level of the brute. 
Had Renan been obliged to choose between posi- 
tive religion, with its mythical elements, and an 
abstract system of philosophy, devoid of all reli- 
gious feeling, he would not have hesitated; he 
would have chosen the positive religion. But hap- 
pily this dilemma was not presented. The task of 
our time, one not impossible of accomplishment, 
consists precisely in preserving all the essential part 
of religion in a free and harmonious philosophy. 
We must, therefore, ‘‘transfer religion into the re- 
gion of the unassailable, beyond special dogmas and 
supernatural belief.’’ Sucha philosophy must also 
take into account all the elements of intellectual 
and moral life, which Christianity did not do. It 
totally neglected what is true and beautiful. It 
looked upon philosophy, poetry and science as so 
many vanities. Human nature was thus deprived 
of some of its most essential members. Among 
intellectual things, which are all alike holy, a dis- 
tinction was made between the profane and the 


RENAN AND TAINE. 403 


sacred. A fatal distinction! Whatever comes from 
the soul is sacred. 

Imagine Malebranche having read Gcethe, 
Kant, and Hegel, having studied under Burnouf 
and understood Lamarck’s theories. If, instead of 
looking down upon the history of the human mind 
as a futile picture of what others have thought, the 
proud Oratorian had consented to look at the world 
and at humanity, how much wider his horizon 
would have become! from how many prejudices he 
would have freed himself! He would have beheld 
the endless meanderings of legend and history and 
the infinite web of divine creations; and though the 
sight might have bereft him of his narrow faith, it 
would have given him instead a sense of true the- 
ology, which is the science of the world and of 
humanity, the science of universal development 
(Werden), which leads, under the aspect of worship, 
to poetry and art, and above all, to morals. 

Such a nineteenth-century Malebranche Renan 
tried to be. 


Could Renan have lived all his life long in the 
same state of mind and soul as his religious teachers, 
who ‘‘made him acquainted with perfect virtue,’’ 
he would have counted himself happy, and would 
have been spared many struggles. But is one free 
to believe or to reason as one may prefer? Is it 
our fault if belief in the supernatural gives way 
before the science of nature, if belief in the sacred 
narratives gives way before philological science? 


404 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


At least, in this inevitable evolution man _ loses 
nothing which is of vital importance to him. Only 
that is destroyed which is already falling to decay; 
everything else is still found in science. Were it 
not so, science would be, as the Jansenists said, 
a vanity. 

It is a great error to take its object to be either 
the amusement of the mind or the increase of man’s 
material welfare. No doubt these advantages must 
not be despised. It is true that curiosity is a mark 
of man’s intellectual nobility, and material progress 
is, in one sense, the indispensable condition of other 
and higher forms of progress. But the real value 
of science lies elsewhere. We require a symbol. 
Religion gave us one ready-made; science takes it 
away from us by depriving us of our faith in the 
supernatural. Science owes us another. It is in 
duty bound to explain man to himself, in the name 
of human nature as a whole, which is the only law- 
ful authority. To live without a general idea of the 
world is not really to live a man’s life. Science 
must supply such an idea. If you rob science of 
that, you take away its real worth and leave it 
nothing but an insipid residue, fit at the best to be 
thrown to those who are satisfied with dregs. If 
the old faith disappears, let science put a critical 
faith in its place. 

What, then, is this science, for which Renan 
expresses such a lofty ambition, and which he 
extols so enthusiastically at five-and-twenty years 
of age, in L’ Avenir de la Science? Sometimes it 


RENAN AND TAINE. 405 


means for him the physical and biological sciences 
which have taught man to find out his true place in 
the universe and no longer to believe himself the 
end of creation. But it most often represents the 
group of those sciences which were more familiar 
to Renan—that is, historical and _ philological 
sciences. It was from these that the supernatural 
received the finishing stroke. It was these that 
gave wise to exegesis, manapalitets excy esis  tomtne 
science of comparative religion, which made the old 
faith impossible. As a natural, though perhaps 
deceitful consequence, it was in them also that 
Renan expected to find the principle of his new 
faith. He was so much struck by what they had 
been able to effect that he had few doubts as to 
what they would still be able to accomplish. And 
does not history, indeed, seem to be the foundation 
of philosophy in our days? The new philosophy is, 
in one word, the science of humanity, and the 
science of a being which is in a state of perpetual 
evolution (Werden) can be nothing if not its history. 

This was undoubtedly a rather narrow and 
unstable basis on which to erect the whole edifice 
of man’s vital beliefs. Without speaking ill of his- 
torical science, who does not know that it is the 
most conjectural and unsafe of all? that its conclu- 
sions are always liable to revision, and vary, in 
fact, with each new generation of scientific men? 
And who better than Renan himself knew the weak 
sides of this science? Not only does he confess 
that the results of criticism cannot be proved, but 


406 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


only perceived, but towards the end of his life he 
seemed quite to have lost his first illusion, and to 
have got bravely over the enthusiasm bred in him 
during his youth by the teaching of Burnouf and 
the works of German criticism. He almost re- 
gretted having given up his life to the historical 
sciences rather than to the natural sciences, which 
had taken such a hold upon him in the seminary at 
Issy. He ‘‘sees the inevitable end of them.’’ <A 
century hence mankind will know all it can know 
about its past, and then it will be time to stop, for 
it is characteristic of such studies that as soon as 
they have reached a state of relative perfection 
they begin to fall to pieces. 

In spite of these melancholy reflections, it 
remains true that Renan’s philosophy is founded 
upon history. Though not demonstrable like 
mathematical theorems, the results of criticism 
have yet a quite sufficient value; the tact of a 
judicious, methodical, conscientious mind is a very 
sure instrument for the discovery of truth when the 
discovery is possible. And the inevitable uncer- 
tainty of history as to details in nowise diminishes 
the force of the conclusions which may be drawn 
from comparative philology, exegesis, and the his- 
tory of languages and of religions. And on the 
other hand, these sciences have the valuable priv- 
ilege of making us understand the nature of develop- 
ment and of progress. They thus introduce us to 
the only philosophy which can henceforth explain 
the world, humanity, and God Himself. 


RENAN AND TAINE. 407 


The idea of progress, which is at the basis of 
Comte’s philosophy, plays, therefore, a no less 
important part in Renan’s. But Comte, while 
applying the idea of progress to every class of phe- 
nomena, endeavours to use it always in a strictly 
scientific and positive sense. Renan attributes to 
it also a metaphysical sense. Progress means to 
him advancement towards perfection, towards the 
good and the beautiful, towards being and con- 
sciousness. ‘‘A sort of inner spring, urging all 
things towards life, and towards a more and more 
fully developed life, is the necessary hypothesis.’’ 
This hypothesis forces itself upon our minds chiefly 
when we examine the history of mankind. If any 
result has been acquired from the immense develop- 
ment of historical knowledge at the end of the 
eighteenth and during the nineteenth century, it is 
the conviction that there is a life of mankind as 
there is a life of the individual man; that history is 
not a vain series of isolated facts, but a spontaneous 
tendency towards an ideal goal; that perfection is 
the centre of gravitation of mankind, as well as of 
everything that has life. Hegel was the first to set 
forth this truth with perfect clearness. The philos- 
ophy of history was founded the moment that this 
conception of progress was grasped by our reflec- 
tion. Hitherto progress had come in a spontaneous 
way; it is to be henceforth the conscious aim of 
the efforts of the best of mankind. 

There is, then, no reasoning with one who 
thinks that history is an aimless ebullition, a motion 


408 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


without any resultant. ‘To us idealists,’’ one doc- 
trine only is true, the transcendental doctrine, ac- 
cording to which the chief end of mankind is to 
constitute a superior kind of consciousness, or, as 
people once used to say, to glorify God. This 
universe has an ideal aim, and is subservient to a 
divine end. This aim of the world is to make rea- 
son reign. To organize reason is the duty of man- 
kind. ‘‘We are pretty nearly agreed,’’ he says in 
the Dialogues Philosophiques, ‘‘that the aim of the 
world is the production of a reflective and more 
and more perfect consciousness. We know of no 
higher form of this reflective consciousness than 
And more briefly, in the Avenir de la 
Science, ‘‘Our creed is the reasonableness of prog- 


y 


D9. 


humanity. 
ress." 


This symbol, which is rather Hegelian than posi- 
tivist, permits Renan to preserve in his science the 
objects of religion and metaphysics, only some- 
what transformed; it is sufficient for him to substi- 
tute the standpoint of development for that of a 
changeless eternity. ‘‘God! Providence! soul! 
Good old words, rather heavy, but expressive and 
respectable.’’ What is God to humanity if not the 
transcendental summary of its supra-sensible needs, 
the category of the ideal? As soon as we believe 
in liberty and in mind, we believe in God. To love 
God, to know God, is to love what is beautiful and 
good, and to know what istrue. A religious man is 
one who knows how to find in everything its divine 


RENAN AND TAINE. 409 


‘part, not one who professes belief in some dry and 
unintelligible formula about divinity. In this view 
the old questionings as to the essence and attributes 
of God become useless. Let us cast aside, in 
thinking of the divine life, every notion relating to 
our transient life. Is this absolute being free and 
conscious? Questions of this sort may be answered 
equally well with yes or no. They imply an incor- 
rigible anthropomorphic illusion. In like manner, 
we may say both that God is and that God will be. 
Only that can develop which exists already. But, 
at the same time, the universal task of all that exists 
is to make God perfect—that is, to realize the great 
and final resultant which is to close the circle of 
thingsaby..adisupremenunity aan ann tN Cason, 
after having organized man, will organize God. 
The immensity of time is here the chief factor. 
Furthermore, let us beware lest these formule 
should lead us to an abstract idealism, and lest 
metaphysical speculation, instead of bringing us 
nearer to God, should only remove us farther from 
Him. God, as Kant clearly saw, is the product of 
moral consciousness, not of science or metaphysics. 
It is not reason, but feeling, that determines the idea 
of God. This is why poetry and religion on this 
point outweigh philosophy. The creed of progress 
implies only faith in the triumph of mind, virtue, 
and beauty. Let religions, therefore, continue to 
speak of God, and let us take heed lest in simplifying 
them we destroy them. Let us not proclaim our- 
selves superior to them. Their creeds are but a lit- 


410 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


tle more mythical than ours, and they have 
immense advantages to which we shall never attain. 
The theology of the wise in our days might be 
summed up in the two following propositions, which 
leave the religious idea entirely undetermined: First, 
religion will be eternal among mankind; second, all 
religious creeds are assailable and perishable. 
Miracles disappear together with supernatural- 
ism, and for the same reasons. Providence, as 
understood by the vulgar, is a sort of thaumaturgy. 
Renan thinks that the true Providence is not sepa- 
rate from the constant order of things. He liked to 
quote this saying of Malebranche’s, ‘‘God does not 
yi Ouch struthiasethe 
religious instinct had perceived in the idea of Provi- 
dence is found again in a purer form in the idea of 
progress. But science no longer ascribes to the 


act through special volitions. 


Divine Person our petty modes of action and our 
paltry calculations. In nature, as in history, the 
ends attained seem to have been reached only by 
means of an extraordinary prodigality of efforts and 
attempts. There isanimmense loss of germs. But 
forces spent in vain serve at least as wasted forces, 
if there must be such. We cannot apply to prog- 
ress our human idea of finality. All that we can 
say is, that in the long run good triumphs over evil, 
and truth over error. The proof is that the world 
lives on and even moves forward. 

Neither can we preserve the idea of the immor- 
tality of the soul such as it has been handed down 
to us by religious tradition. We could not do so 


RENAN AND TAINE. At 


even if we chose, if we were sincere with our- 
selves. And if we no longer have this belief, how 
can we dare to demand it of others? God forbid, 
says Kenan, that I should say that belief in immor- 
tality is not, in one sense, necessary and sacred. 
But I maintain that when a sceptic who does not 
believe in it preaches this comforting dogma to the 
poor in order to keep them quiet, this must be 
called swindling. It is paying with bills we know 
to be counterfeit; it is tempting the simple-minded 
man by an empty bubble away from the pursuit of 
reality. The old idea of immortality is a remnant 
of the conceptions of the primitive world. It ranks 
with the anthropomorphic representation of God. 
It supposes man to be composed of two substances, 
and would be greatly at a loss to explain how mem- 
ory, consciousness and individuality in the one 
Suiviventhewmwedcstruction, ofMiinomother midlet )us 
frankly renounce this kind of spiritualism, which in 
its simplicity does not perceive how closely it bor- 
ders upon materialism. 

Let it be sufficient, in order to give satisfaction 
to the instinct in our hearts, to admit that all that 
has been sacrificed to progress will be found again 
on the farthest verge of infinity, in a sort of immor- 
tality which moral science will some day discover, 
and which will be to the fanciful immortality of the 
past what the palace of Versailles is to a child’s 
toy-house. Belief in immortality implies nothing 
else than man’s invincible confidence in the future. 
“Individuals live on after death in the collective 


412 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


work of progress. No action dies.’’ Later on, in 
the latter part of his life, Renan seems to have con- 
ceded somewhat more to individuality in the con- 
tinuation of existence. Whoever has had a hand 
in the divine work will feel the divine work that has 
been accomplished, and will see his own share in it. 
We shall live again in the world we have contributed 
to make. Human life, upon its moral side, traces 
a small furrow, as with the point of a pair of com- 
passes, on the bosom of the infinite. This arc of a 
circle drawn in God is as eternal as God Himself. It 
is in God’s remembrance that all men are immortal. 


This philosophy, or science, as Renan chose to 
call it, is undoubtedly religious, but it is surely not 
Christian. It is even in a sense anti-Christian. It 
renews what Malebranche termed the source of 
every heathen impiety; it denies creation and 
deifies nature. Jesus, says Renan, will always be 
my God. But Jesus is no longer the Redeemer of 
man from original sin. Man’s nature has no need 
of being redeemed, for it is not corrupted, but has 
its part in the divine work of progress. 

Thence come the fluctuations, rather apparent 
than real, in Renan’s moral doctrine, which did not 
vary in its fundamental views. Now he protests 
that the morals taught by the Gospel will always 
be his, that Christian education has made him what 
he is, that he will be eternally grateful to it, and 
that it will prevent him from ever falling into low, 
frivolous habits. Again, he speaks to us most 


RENAN AND TAINE. 413 


admirably of his master Marcus Aurelius, glorifies 
his fortitude and his melancholy optimism. Still 
again, he wonders whether virtue may not be delu- 
sion, and runs the risk of scandalising Christian 
souls by declaring that beauty is quite as good as 
virtue. But all these sayings may be reconciled 
without supposing in Renan either a surprising 
instability of doctrine or a desire to astonish his 
readers. His conception of morals is, at the same 
time, natural, like that of Epicurus; rational, like 
that of Marcus Aurelius, and divine, like that of the 
Gospel. The comprehensive principles of his philos- 
ophy admitted of such a synthesis. 

Yet he differs from Christian morals on an 
important point. Nature is divine. Man, who is 
one of nature’s masterpieces, is not born actually 
good, but with the possibility of becoming so. All 
the evil in humanity proceeds from want of culture. 
Renan here agrees with the philosophers of the 
eighteenth century and their perfect confidence in 
human nature. ‘“‘I, who havea cultivated mind, 
find no evil in myself, and in all things turn spon- 
taneously to what seems to me most beautiful. 
Were all men’s minds as cultivated as my own, all 
men, like myself, would be in the happy case of 
finding it impossible to do wrong. An educated 
man has but to follow the delightful bent of his 
inner impulse. He might adopt the motto of the 
Abbey of Théléme, ‘Do thou as thou choosest,’ for 
he cannot choose any but beautiful things. A vir- 
tuous man is an artist.’ 


414 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Shall we call this pride, or perhaps irony? Tobe 
sure, the author of Caliban did not shut his eyes to 
the fierce and base instincts that survived in the soul 
of the ‘‘improved gorilla.’’ Heknew how much time 
and how many efforts it has taken to accomplish the 
fragile work of civilisation. But the definition of 
humanity must be found in the ideal to which it 
dimly tends, and which some time it is to reach. 
Christianity was mistaken in making a virtue of 
humility. The foundation of our morality is the 
excellence, the perfect autonomy of human nature. 
We must not, therefore, define goodness as obedi- 
ence to the will of a superior being. Nor must we 
impose upon man ascetic observances; to affect 
abstinence proves that we highly value the things 
of which we deprive ourselves. Plato mortified his 
body less than Dominique Loricat did, and no 
doubt he was more of a spiritualist. 

Likewise, the imperative character of duty 
should not be too much insisted upon. We obey 
it, but we see the weakness of the arguments 
upon which it rests. We obey it, because we have 
faith in God, because we believe in progress, in 
good, and in the final victory of what is best, and 
this without any hope of personal reward. The 
same privilege of human nature which enables us to 
be religious—that is, to understand the divine 
work—also enables us to be moral—that is, to have 
a share in that work. ‘‘There is in man a faculty 
or a need, a capacity, in short, which is satisfied in 
our days by morals, and which has always been 


RENAN AND TAINE. 415 


satisfied, and always will be, by something of the 
kind. I understand that the word morals may in 
future times become inadequate, and may be 
replaced by another. For my particular use I pre- 
fer to substitute for it the word esthetics. Let us 
remember that whatever is of the soul is sacred. 
Greece, which carried the beautiful to its utmost 
perfection, is as much entitled to the gratitude of 
men as Judza, which taught them divine justice.’’ 

We cannot here enter, even summarily, into the 
details of Renan’s political and social ideas; to sum- 
marise them would be simply equivalent to distort- 
ing them. They were among his favourite themes 
for reflexion; their wealth, their variety, and even 
their apparent incongruities, are indeed often some- 
what puzzling. In order to account for this, we 
must remember the interest Renan took in contem- 
poraneous events, and his tendency to make the 
whole of his ideas harmonise with them, though 
without changing those ideas in essential particu- 
lars. Moreover, the general optimism of his philos- 
ophy did not make him less clear-sighted, and could 
not prevent him from being aware alike of the folly 
of revolutionists and of the selfish absurdity of 
conservatives. Lastly, he himself confesses that 
his opinion on very important points became modi- 
fied with time. In ZL’ Avenir de la Science, when 
full of juvenile enthusiasm, and no doubt under the 
influence of socialist doctrines, he believed that 
science would finally enfranchise all mankind; he 
hoped to see all men rising to the new religion and 


416 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


participating in full consciousness ‘‘in the organisa- 
tion,-of. mankind and’ of ‘God. Latervon; in the 
Drames, and chiefly in the Dialogues philosophiques, 
he understands how chimerical such a hope is; he 
considers it probable that the ignorant mass will 
always need to be ruled over by an intelligent aris- 
tocracy. He even conceives the idea of a few men 
holding in their hands, by means of their science, 
the fate of the globe, and reigning over mankind by 
the terror they inspire. But such a dream, even to 
Renan himself, was nothing but a sort of nightmare. 

At the end of his life, as he looked back upon 
his juvenile works, he persuaded himself that upon 
the whole he had been right, and he remained faith- 
ful to his leading ideas. ““Progress,’’ he says, 
‘“save a few disappointments, has been accom- 
plished in the direction | imagined. Like Hegel, I 
made the mistake of attributing too positively to 
mankind a central part in the universe. The devel- 
opment of humanity may possibly be of no more 
consequence than the moss or lichens growing over 
a damp surface. But still, in our eyes, the history 
of mankind preserves its supremacy, since mankind 
alone, for all we know, constitutes the conscious- 
ness of the universe. And even though life should 
disappear from our small planet before mankind 
has attained to the full consciousness which is its 
supreme aim, the attempt baffied here would suc- 
ceed elsewhere, and the effort toward the realisation 
of God would not be lost. But for this supreme 
hope, life would be absurd, and this wretched com- 


é 


RENAN AND TAINE, ALT 


edy would not be worth playing. Did I not 
believe that mankind was summoned to a divine 
end, I should become an Epicurean, if I could, and 
if not, I should commit suicide. But virtue will be 
vindicated in the end.’’ 


Renan’s philosophy is therefore really a kind of 
faith. Is it a philosophy as well? This is the 
question which we proposed in the beginning, and 
which the reader can now answer. Renan’s doc- 
trine certainly does not fulfil the idea once enter- 
tained of a philosophical system. Renan himself 
never thought of constructing one. With respect 
to metaphysics considered as a science, his attitude 
was that of a positivist. Every truth, he says, has 
its starting point in scientific experiment. It issues 
directly or indirectly from a laboratory or a library, 
for whatever we learn we learn by studying nature 
or history. ‘‘Philosophy is not a separate science; 
it is one side of every science. In the great optic 
pencil of human knowledge it is the central region 
where the rays meet in one and the same light.”’ 
No doubt there is room for a logic or a criticism of 
the human mind, such as Kant attempted, but 
there is no room for vain and shallow metaphysical 
speculation. 

But while abandoning its ancient dogmatic 
claims, philosophy is enriched, on the other hand, 
with the ideas of humanity and progress. The idea 
of humanity is the great boundary line between old 
and new philosophies. Carefully examine why the 


418 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


old systems can no longer satisfy you, and you will 
see that it is because this idea is absent from them. 
In it there is a whole new system of philosophy. 
The moment that mankind is considered as a con- 
sciousness in process of formation and develop- 
ment, there is a psychology of mankind as well as 
one of the individual. There is, therefore, a science 
of the human mind, which is not only the analysis 
of the machinery of individual understanding, but 
the very history of the human soul 

This philosophy was prepared by the eighteenth 
century in France, which clearly conceived the 
import of history. But in history itself it misap- 
prehended the part of spontaneousness and exag- 
gerated that of reflexion, so that it thoroughly 
understood nothing but itself. It did not see that 
primitive epochs were the creative epochs; it tried 
to explain everything with words of superficial clear- 


99 66 


ness— ‘credulity, superstition,’’ ‘‘fanaticism’’— 
and above all, it attacked religion in its essence, 
without seeing that it is as eternal as the human 
soul. The result was a dry, analytical, negative 
rationalism, satisfactory neither to the imagination 
nor to the heart, nor even to reason. A. Comte 
understood the import of history and the idea of 
progress. But he did not realise the deep variety 
of mankind. He was unacquainted with the East 
and India; he studied only the Western world, and 
even in this overlooked the details of history. 
Thence comes the arbitrary, artificial and already 
decrepit character of his building. Only historical 


RENAN AND TAINE. 419 


and philological sciences can do as much for the 
knowledge of humanity as the positive sciences 
have done for the knowledge of nature. And 
among those historical and philological sciences the 
science of religions is that which throws most light 
upon the past of mankind and the direction of 
progress. Thus, in writing the Orvigines du Chris- 
tianisme, Renan thought he was writing the most 
necessary and philosophical book of the age. 

It is time that reason should cease to criticise 
religions as being works raised against it by a for- 
eign and rival power, and that it should at last 
recognise itself in all products of mankind.  Reli- 
gions are popular poems: systems of metaphysics 
are learned poems: the subject treated is fundamen- 
tally the same. No doubt, we may contrast reli- 
gion and philosophy as we contrast two systems, 
but not without recognising that they have the 
same origin and rest onthe same ground. The old 
controversy seemed to admit that religions have a 
different origin, and by this very admission it was 
led to abuse them. By growing bolder we shall 
become more respectful. 

This attitude was a new one in France. With 
respect to religion people hitherto had scarcely 
known any middle ground between enmity and sub- 
missiveness. Renan took a position from which he 
did justice both to religion and to reason. He 
made the ‘‘philosophers’’ understand that religion, 
far from being the bane and disgrace of mankind, is, 
on the contrary, its very honour and life; to the sup- 


420 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


porters of revealed religion he explained that noth- 
ing can prevail against truth when once it is known, 
and that supernaturalism must disappear when 
science has shown it to be false. But, he says, 
let us not mistake for irreligion a refusal to adhere to 
this or that belief which comes to us assuming to 
have been revealed. The man who takes a serious 
view of life, and employs his activity in the pursuit 
of a generous end, is the religious man. The friv- 
olous and superficial man, who has no high morality, 
is the infidel. 

Renan thus opposes religion to religions, as 
Rousseau had done, as Victor Hugo was just then 
doing. But he asserts, not without reason, that his 
criticism has done more for the preservation of reli- 
gion than any apology. Religion, as he under- 
stands it, is very remote from what the philosophers 
call natural religion, a sort of paltry theology, with- 
out poetry and without effect upon mankind. True 
religion he takes to be only a way of viewing life as 
a whole, seeing under all things the ideal and 
divine meaning, and sanctifying the whole of life by 
purity of soul and loftiness of heart. 

Renan remained a priest, in the main, as he said 
himself. He was a priest of a religion devoid of 
the supernatural element and tending to the realisa- 
tion of good. It was the strictness of the Roman 
Catholic dogma which compelled Renan to aban- 
don the Church. One easily sees how in a Protes- 
tant country he might not have been obliged to 
stand apart from the communion of worshippers, 


RENAN AND TAINE. 421 


and might even have exercised spiritual ministry, 
as eiierder: and) Schleiermachermdids There are 
striking points of resemblance between him and the 
latter. Both addressed an incredulous and frivolous 
society, in which they tried to awaken the respect 
for religion and the sense of what is divine. 
Renan’s success on this point exceeded even his 
hopes, and it might astonish the supporters of 
revealed religion to tell them, what is nevertheless 
true, that he brought back to them more souls than 
he led away. At least he showed by his own 
example that a man could think with the greatest 
freedom, be an evolutionist, a Hegelian, make a 
scientific study of the history of religions, and yet 
remain deeply religious. In him was best effected 
the harmonious blending of the rationalistic criticism 
of the eighteenth century and of the historical and 
religious tendencies of the nineteenth. 


Had not ‘“‘parallels’’ long been out of fashion, a 
parallel between Renan and Taine would inevitably 
occur to an historian of philosophy, as well as to an 
historian of literature, for seldom have two more 
different tintellectual, ‘tempers been) found!’ No 
doubt they have some features in common: a taste 
for history, a respect for facts, a feeling of distrust 
towards professional philosophers, and traces of the 
evolutionary tendencies of their time. But besides 
the fact that the one is perfectly suppie and the 
other perfectly rigid, they do not set themselves 
the same problems, nor do they apply to them the 


422 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


same method. Renan reached philosophy through 
religion and religious exegesis, Taine through 
ideology and philosophical criticism. Renan came 
from St. Sulpice, and Taine from the Ecole Nor- 
male. 

Taine’s first master, the one whose influence 
upon him was most deep and lasting, was Condil- 
lac. Taine was astonished that people in France 
could have forgotten Condillac’s method, ‘‘one of 
the masterpieces of the human mind,’’ and adopted 
Eclecticism. He brings against Cousin and_ his 
disciples the charge that they lacked precision, 
proved but little, were chiefly orators, and were 
more concerned with producing an effect than with 
discovering truth. We ought, he thinks, to turn 
back to Condillac, whose mind was of unparalleled 
lucidity and precision. To nearly all the great 
questions he gave answers which the reviving theo- 
logical prejudice and the importation of German 
metaphysics discredited in France in the beginning 
of the nineteenth century. But people will yet 
come back to him. Taine sets the example. The 
process which he calls analysis, and which is the 
very soul of his method; the principle of his psy- 
chology, that whatever is in the understanding may 
be reduced to sensation,:and that sensations are 
‘““the very substance of human intelligence’’; lastly, 
the psychological and logical theory of symbols and 
reasoning—all these things Taine owed to Condil- 
lac. In this sense he may be considered as a suc- 
cessor of the Ideologists. 


RENAN AND TAINE. 423 


Yet he does not confine himself to the continua- 
tion of their doctrine. Between them and him 
came Auguste Comte, who gave Taine the idea of 
a philosophy infinitely more comprehensive and 
closely linked to the advancement of science and 
history. Taine reproaches the Ideologists for hav- 
ing been scarcely anything but logicians. They 
lacked the sense of concrete reality, and they lacked 
a taste for it as well. They excelled in the theory 
of method, but not in its application. They called 
themselves followers of Bacon, and thought they 
were; but though their starting point was different 
from that of the Cartesians, they trod the same 
path, and like them, after making a slight appeal 
to experience, they abandoned it. They studied 
man without noticing the differences which exist 
between men. 

Now, Taine, on the contrary, was, like Renan, 
fully aware of the diversity of: races and civili- 
sations. Man is not to him an abstract entity. 
Taine would have us think of him with his individ- 
ual features and physical characteristics, his size, 
the colour of his eyes and hair, his garments, his 
moral peculiarities, his beliefs, his customary ges- 
tures—in short, with all that constitutes his visible 
and invisible being. To apply Condillac’s analysis 
to men thus conceived was one of Taine’s favourite 
modes of procedure. 

Next to Condillac, Spinoza and Hegel were his 
masters. He went deeply into their doctrines, 
which produced such a strong impression upon him 


424 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


that he thought he would never again feel such 
another. This sensationalist who thinks man’s 
intelligence to be composed of sensations and sym- 
bols, this positivist and empiricist who limits science 
to facts and their laws, this phenomenalist who 
defines the ego as a collection of sensations, is also 
a metaphysician who does not shrink from transcen- 
dental problems. Now he inclines towards an 
almost purely Spinozian conception of nature, look- 
ing upon the physical and moral nature of man as 
two aspects of one and the same essential reality, 
which is developed according to a law of absolute 
necessity; and again he conceives of the evolution 
of being rather as Hegel does. If he abstained 
almost wholly from metaphysics, it was owing to 
the scruples he had as a man of science; meta- 
physics must not be mixed up with the positive 
investigations of the psychologist and the historian. 
But he does not at all consider metaphysical specu- 
lation wrong or fruitless in itself. He leaves the 
questions open. He even has a glimpse, though 
but vaguely, of the possibility of a kind of meta- 
physics founded on experience, which by a 
methodical advance should attain to the supreme 
law, the primitive formula from which the whole of 
reality might be deduced. 

And lastly, beneath the sensationalist and the 
metaphysician there lay hidden in Taine the soul of 
a true Stoic, who chose Marcus Aurelius as_ his 
model in life, and who possessed the same noble 
and deep conception of the world, the same disillu- 


RENAN AND TAINE. 425 


sionised serenity, and the same lofty disinterested- 
ness. 

If we disregard this inward life, which Taine 
concealed with jealous care, can we at least see how 
he joined together the two apparently so contra- 
dictory conceptions of the universe, the empirical 
and the metaphysical, in which he took equal 
interest? From what point of view did he reconcile 
in his own mind Spinoza and Hume, Hegel and 
Condillac? The reconciliation is brought about by 
means of abstraction. This “‘beautiful faculty, the 
source of language, the only real distinction which, 
according to its degree, separates men from brutes 
and great men from common ones,’’ is the power 
of isolating elements from given facts and of con- 
sidering them apart. 

Abstraction constitutes a transition between the 
world as it is revealed to our senses and the world 
as it is understood by our intelligence. There are 
two great aspects of nature, “‘two kingdoms,’’ that 
of complex facts, and that of simple elements. 
The former is the result and the latter the cause. 
The former is contained in the latter, and deduced 
from it aS a consequence is deduced from its 
premise. Both are of equal value; they are one 
and the same reality viewed in two different lights. 
This magnificent moving world, this tumultuous 
chaos of intricate events, this unceasing life, infi- 
nitely varied and many-sided, are reducible to a few 
elements and to the relations between them. To 
pass on from one of the aspects to the other, from 


426 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


complexity to simplicity, from facts to laws, from 
experiments to formule, is the work of abstraction. 
“English philosophy ends in considering nature as an 
assemblage of facts; German philosophy looks upon 
it chiefly as a system of laws. If there is a place 
midway between the two nations, it belongs to us 
Frenchmen. We amplified the English ideas in the 
eighteenth century: we can in the nineteenth give 
precision to the German ideas. What we have to 
do is to temper, amend and complete the two spir- 
its one by another, to fuse them into one, to 
express them in a style that shall be intelligible to 
everybody, and thus to make of them the universal 
spirit.’ ’ 

Such, then, is the position assumed by Taine, 
intermediate between English Empiricism and Ger- 
man metaphysics. If he seemed to incline rather 
towards Empiricism, it was because he found him- 
self confronted by Eclecticism. This doctrine pos- 
tulated rational principles independent of experi- 
ence, and Taine had first to combat what he 
deemed a feeble imitation of Cartesianism or of 
German metaphysics. But when in presence of 
such Empiricism as that of Stuart Mill, for instance, 
Taine, on the contrary, defends the principle of 
causality and gives to it an absolute value. He 
shows that a collection of facts is not science, and he 
maintains the possibility of rising to a general con- 
ception of the universe. Abstraction permits him 
thus to stand as an arbiter. Only the philosopher 
must make a methodical use of it, and instead of try- 


RENAN AND TAINE. 427 


ing to construct the world @ frzorz, as the German 
metaphysicians have been rash enough to do, he 
must draw the elements of his building from reality 
itself. On this condition ‘‘the moral as well as the 
physical universe may be held in the palm of our 
hand,’’ and an abstract formula may represent the 
immense variety of things as easily as an equation 
represents a curve. 


In perfect conformity with these principles, Taine 
had not only a passion for minute details, for char- 
acteristic and special facts, the search for which 
delighted him in Stendhal and in the Goncourts, 
but also a taste for general and abstract formule, 
going so far as to say that a man, a nation, a civili- 
sation, are ‘‘walking theorems. 
cessive steps of abstraction from the most minute 
facts to the most comprehensive laws, is the very 
object of science, and the method to be employed 
in moral sciences does not essentially differ on that 
score from that of the physical sciences. 

Whether the facts are physical or moral is of no 
consequence; they always have causes. There are 
causes for courage or ambition, as well as for diges- 
tion or respiration. Every species of human pro- 
duction—literature, music, painting, philosophy, 
science, industry, etc.—is directly caused by a moral 
disposition or a combination of moral dispositions. 
The cause being given, the production appears; 
take the cause away and it disappears. The link 
between them is the same as that between a phys- 


»? 


To rise by suc- 


428 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


ical phenomenon and its antecedent conditions, 
between the dew and the cooling of the surround- 
ing air, between expansion and heat. 

To the consideration of ‘‘causes,’” borrowed 
from physics, we must add that of ‘‘dependencies’’ 
and ‘‘conditions,’’ derived from biology. If we 
study a man, a nation, a race, a century, we shall 
find that the thousand details to be observed in 
them may be classified under certain headings, cer- 
tain general qualities which may be expressed in 
seven or eight formule. We shall furthermore 
notice that these formule are all interdependent, 
and that the qualities vary, as if mathematical 
functions one of another. And finally, we shall 
reach the fundamental property which Taine, with 
Condillac, calls the ‘‘ primitive fact,’’ the generating 
cause, from which all others can be deduced. 
‘*Between a bower at Versailles, one of Male- 
branche’s philosophical and theological arguments, a 
precept of versification by Boileau, a mortgage law 
of Colbert, an antechamber compliment at Marly, 
and one of Bossuet’s sentences on the sovereignty 
of God, the distance seems infinite. The facts are 
so dissimilar that at first sight we deem them iso- 
‘lated and separate. Yet the facts are connected 
with one another by the definitions of the groups 
within which they are comprised. Each of them 
is an action of that tdeal and general man around 
whom all the contrivances and peculiarities of the 
time are grouped.’’ With this ‘‘ideal and general 


RENAN AND TAINE. 429 


’ 


man’’ abstraction reaches its final term; all the 
causes are united into one supreme formula. 

These causes are made up of ‘‘dependencies’ 
and ‘‘conditions,’’ and were they better known to 
us, history would be like everything else, only a 
problem of mechanics. The only difference is that 
the quantity and direction of moral forces cannot 
be measured in a mathematical way. But we can 
at least determine in every historical development 
the three primordial causes, which are race, environ- 
ment, and time. Does not Taine here, in this idea 
of social solidarity and continuity, return to what 
Auguste Comte termed the objective conditions of 
the development of societies? 

The History of English Literature is the most 
celebrated production due to this method, which, 
according to Taine, is applicable to all moral sci- 
ences. After a period of very great favor, this 
process has been severely criticised and finally aban- 
doned. Without here examining whether this fate 
was deserved or not, we must confess that the 
method lacks precision. The very lavishness of 
Taine’s ‘‘illustrations’’ isa proof of this. Moral 
sciences, and particularly history, he compares suc- 
cessively to mechanics, mineralogy, physics, chem- 
istry, zodlogy, anatomy, and natural history in 
general. In spite of all these comparisons, or 
rather because of them, the reader is left puzzled. 
Taine did not see that it was necessary for him to 
choose for the method of moral and social sciences 


y 


430 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


between the geometrical and mechanical con- 
ception, based on the relations between conse- 
quences and principles, and the biological concep- 
tion, based on the harmonic relation of the different 
parts with one another and with the whole. So, in 
spite of the powerful streams of light sent forth 
by his style, there are interfering rays which make 
spots of shadow and cast obscurity upon his theory. 


Taine’s strictly philosophical work comprises La 
Philosophie de l Art and Del’ Intelligence. For La 
Philosophie de l Art Taine assumes an intermediate 
position between realism and idealism, in accord- 
ance with his general attitude between empiricism 
and rationalism. He isa realist in principle, since 
he defines art as the imitation of nature; but he is 
also an idealist when he adds that the object of this 
imitation is to express the essence of things by means 
of their ‘‘essential characteristic.’’ This essen- 
tial characteristic is a quality from which all others, 
or at least many others, are derived according to 
fixed connection. This characteristic being deter- 
mined, we must be able to deduce from it all the 
others, as from the jawbone of a fossil Cuvier 
deduced all the organs of the carnivorous animal. 

The production of a work of art is, moreover, 
determined by a mass of conditions which are 
summed up in race, environment, andtime. Taine 
has been charged with exaggerating the importance 
of these conditions, and not taking sufficiently into 
account the individuality of the artist. It never- 


RENAN AND TAINE. 431 


theless remains a fact that in his theoretical and 
historical considerations upon art he presented 
many ingenious and instructive views. He showed 
admirably by numerous examples how any art was 
at a given moment the living expression of a whole 
civilisation, and how each was to be understood 
only by means of the other. 

When Taine’s book, De 1’ Intelligence, appeared, 
the psychology taught and generally accepted in 
France was that of Cousin, Garnier, and Jouffroy. 
It was based upon observation by consciousness and 
reflexion, and was mainly devoted, as it seemed, to 
the defence of a spiritualistic metaphysics. Taine 
deemed this doctrine vague and incapable of prog- 
ress, and wanted to substitute for it. a scientific 
psychology. If psychology is a science, he says, 
its object is to discover unknown facts, inaccessible 
to direct observation. In order to make these 
discoveries, it must, like other sciences, find a 
substitute for the observing instrument and modify 
the object observed. It will therefore have recourse 
to experiment whenever that is possible—to phys- 
iology, to the organs of the senses, to mental 
pathology, to the study of phenomena connected 
with hypnotism and double personality, to the 
observation of children and animals, etc. Taine’s 
work, Del Intelligence, gives a good idea of the state 
of science with regard to psychological questions at 
the time when it was written. If it has grown out 
of date, it is in the same way as treatises on physics 
or physiology, owing to the very progress of sci- 


432 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


ence. Cerebral anatomy and physiology have been 
completely renewed during the last forty years. 
Even the analysis of sensations, which Taine set 
forth in such a masterly way, no longer corresponds 
to the present state of our knowledge. 

Besides this strictly psychological part, De [ntel- 
ligence also contains a theory of knowledge and an 
attempt to frame a metaphysical theory of the soul. 
The theory of knowledge, as might be expected, is 
chiefly a study of abstraction. It is by abstraction 
that we are enabled to infer from particular facts a 
general idea, and from several general ideas another 
more general still, and so on, step by step, always 
progressing according to natural order, by a con- 
tinuous analysis, with expressive notations, after 
the example of mathematics, which passes on from 
finger-reckoning to figure-reckoning, and thence to 
letter-reckoning. Truth resides in things, and in 
order to discover it we need only “‘resolve things 
into their elements, note these elements with pre- 
cise symbols, collect these symbols into exact for- 
mulz, reduce these formule one to another, and go 
on by means of equations till the final equation is 
reached, which is the desired truth.’’ Taine’s con- 
ception of science is perhaps that of Bacon; his 
method certainly is that of Condillac. But Taine 
claims to rise by this method to a Spinozian or 
Hegelian view of the universe, which neither Bacon 
nor Condillac would have accepted. 

Finally, his general conception of the activity of 
the soul is Associationism. Had he not been 


RENAN AND TAINE. 433 


familiar with the works of Spencer, Bain, Stuart 
Mill, and all the English Associationist school, the 
method of Condillac and of the Ideologists would 
nevertheless have led him to this theory. Our con- 
scious sensations, remembrances, desires, etc., are, 
according to Taine, composed of unconscious ele- 
ments. The object of psychological analysis is 
precisely to isolate these elements. It is a sort of 
mental chemistry, even more advanced than chem- 
istry properly so called. For the latter has to deal 
with a great many elements, called simple sub- 
stances, which it has not yet been able to decompose, 
whereas psychological analysis has discovered the 
one simple element of which all the diversity of 
psychological phenomena is composed. This com- 
mon element, which, perpetually repeated, consti- 
tutes all our ideas, is sensation. We are thus in 
possession of the ‘‘first fact,’’ and from it we are 
able to deduce the whole ‘‘mechanism”’ of intelli- 
gence and of psychical life in general. Psychology 
in our days finds it difficult to believe that a state 
of the soul is composed of simpler elements, asa 
crystal is composed of molecules, and Association- 
ism has lost many of its partisans. 


To conclude, there seem always to have been in 
Taine not one but two co-existing philosophies, to 
both of which he clung all his life with equal tena- 
city. One isa philosophy of sensation. With it 
are connected his criticism of the Cartesian spirit, 
his professed taste for the varied forms, sounds, 


434 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


colours, peculiarities, and singularities of beings; 
the character of his style, and his kinship with 
Flaubert, the Goncourts, Zola, and in general 
with the art of his time. The other sees in the 
universe a system of laws, and limits the infinite 
diversity of reality within a small number of for- 
mule, more and more comprehensive till we reach a 
supreme formula, which comprises all others, and 
consequently, the whole of reality; on this side 
Taine sympathised with Spinoza and Hegel. No 
doubt abstraction helped him to pass from one 
system to the other. But does he not put too 
much confidence in the virtue of symbols and for- 
mula, and does he not demand of this process more 
than it can give, when he finds in it a reconciliation 
between the empirical and the rationalistic concep- 
tion of the world? Stuart Mill, on the one hand, 
and Kant, on the other, are not so easily to be 
brought together by this newer form of Condillac’s 
method. And thus there remains in Taine’s doc- 
trine an ineradicable taint of duality, the influence 
of which is felt throughout his works. Though an 
admirable writer, there is always in his representa- 
tion of reality something geometrical and abstract. 
He constructs the Ancien Régime, he constructs the 
Jacobin, he constructs Napoleon; and these con- 
structions, in strict conformity with his method, are 
extremely brilliant, but more or less artificial. The 
formula meant to express, in an abstract way, the 
characteristic common to a collection of facts often 
proves unequal to the harmonious unity of life. 


RENAN AND TAINE. 435 


However, the defects of Taine’s method and the 
weak points in his philosophy did not become 
apparent at once. His contemporaries were chiefly 
struck by the beauty, the power, the originality of 
the works which it inspired. His influence upon 
minds has been perhaps equal to that of Renan, 
and still makes itself strongly felt even in his very 
adversaries. 


GTAP ATT Pay, 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT IN FRENCH 
PHILOSOPHY 


RENAN and Taine addressed the general public. 
While their books have been admired and widely 
read, and have served as vehicles for ideas which 
were destined to become popular, a number of 
works of a more specially philosophical nature, and 
therefore appealing to a far less numerous class of 
readers, have appeared in France, bearing witness 
to the speculative activity of the country. 

At the first glance that we cast upon the latter 
half of the nineteenth century we are struck with 
the extreme variety, or, more accurately speaking, 
with the isolation and apparently fortuitous distri- 
bution of theories. There is no powerful and 
dominant school sufficiently representative of the 
spirit of the time to rally the great majority of 
thinking minds, as had been done by Cartesianism, 
by the philosophy of the Encyclopzdists, and even 
by Eclecticism about the year 1830. Each philos- 
opher, jealous of his independence, follows his own 
course. Many, out of dislike for quackery and 
oratorical philosophy, withdraw into a sort of dis- 
dainful privacy, which has its advantages as well as 
its drawbacks. It is certainly to be regretted that 

436 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT. 437 


philosophical speculation should seem to confine 
itself within an ‘‘ivory tower,’’ abstaining from 
intimate intercourse with contemporary life; it thus 
runs the risk of assuming a formal, narrow, scho- 
lastic character, and of bestowing much energy and 
skill upon problems of purely factitious interest. 
History shows that this danger is far from imaginary. 
On the other hand, it is no less dangerous for philos- 
ophy to seek avowedly the immediate favour of the 
public. The reason for this is evident. The philos- 
ophers of whom we are speaking have at least 
escaped the latter peril. Remote from the crowd 
and unknown to it, unknown for some time even to 
all but specialists in their own line, there was 
nothing to disturb the elaboration of their doc- 
trines. 

It is also a noteworthy fact that they nearly all 
began by writing on the history of philosophy. In 
the eighteenth century, Kant remarked that, being 
entirely absorbed in his own system, he had no time 
to familiarise himself with those of others. In the 
second half of the nineteenth century, on the con- 
trary, nearly every philosopher thinks himself 
bound, before producing a new system, to be thor- 
oughly acquainted with the previous ones. The 
history of philosophy had, indeed, just been revived 
in France by Cousin, and besides, there was a 
general increase of the feeling of historical solidar- 
ity. Wasit not natural, therefore, that philosophy, 
as well as the other moral sciences, should feel the 
effect of it? 


438 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Thus it happens that though there is not found 
in this period any theory which has given rise toa 
wide and powerful philosophical current, it remains 
possible to locate the various doctrines, either in 
the general course of some great preéxisting current, 
or at the junction of several. 

Apart from Eclecticism and Positivism, it seems 
that we may distinguish four main currents: 

First, a Kantian current, derived in part from 
Kant’s theoretic philosophy, and in part from his 
moral philosophy; 

Second,') a’ metaphysical | current, ‘la’ reaction 
against Positivism and against critical and relativist 
doctrines in general, proceeding from the great 
modern metaphysical systems, and more particularly 
from Leibniz and Schelling; 

Third, an evolutionist current, clearly following 
Lamarck, Darwin, and Mr. Herbert Spencer; 

Fourth and last, a current which may be termed 
Separatist, and which being more or less directly 
derived from Comte, is disposed to abandon the old 
conception of philosophy, and to organize scientific 
and positive psychology, ethics, and sociology. 

This, without counting a great many secondary 
currents and undercurrents which we should be 
obliged to characterise, were not this sketch neces- 
sarily a very summary one. 


Eclecticism is still the philosophy officially 
taught in France. This prerogative, which assures 
it a positive influence upon the intellectual devel- 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT. 439 


opment of the nation, is harmful to it in other 
respects. Being subject to considerations of a 
political rather than a philosophical nature, it has 
not been possible for the system either to develop 
or to transform itself. ‘“‘Eclecticism no longer 
investigates, it merely teaches,’’ said one of its 
adversaries (M. Renouvier). Fortunately, intellec- 
tual originality never renounces its rights. Aside 
from M. Vacherot, who did not hesitate to part 
from the school in order to try to found a new spir- 
itualistic system, there are M. Bouillier, who has 
written a conscientious history of the Cartesian 
philosophy, Bersot, the author of ingenious moral 
essays, and Caro, who produced brilliant critical 
studies. Frank published a philosophical diction- 
ary to which all the best men of the school contrib- 
uted; M. Lévéque has applied the principles of 
Eclecticism to zsthetics. 

Paul Janet has employed his clear and sound 
judgment in the consideration of the most various 
subjects. Not only did he teach the doctrine of 
Eclecticism in his JWorale, and his Causes Finales, 
but he has discussed contemporaneous questions in 
many works, such as Le Cerveau et la Pensée, La 
Crise Contemporaine, and has made important 
contributions to the history of philosophy, such as 
L’ Histoire des Idées et des Théorwes FPolstiques, 
L’ Histoire de U Ecole St. Simonienne, and a biog- 
raphy of his master, V. Cousin, in which he has 
established the truth on several important points. 
M. Janet has been a rare example of perfect fidelity 


440 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


to the doctrine he had adopted in his youth, united 
with a broad sympathy for all attempts to establish 
new theories. His respect for philosophical liberty, 
which he does not separate from other kinds of 
liberty, permits him to be at once extremely dog- 
matic and yet sincerely impartial towards his adver- 
saries, the fiercest of whom have always been will- 
ing in the end to do him justice. 

‘‘Eclectic spiritualism’’ had none the less to 
contend against an opposition growing in strength 
and number, which was more hostile to its method 
even \thaniyto) -itswconclisions-WiesVia ono niin 
reproached it with having neither a clear and con- 
sistent method, nor sincerity, nor precision; with 
borrowing its dogmas “‘from theological traditions 
which have now become pure conventionalities,’’ 
and with being afraid of logic. Other equally 
severe attacks have been repeatedly directed against 
it. Especially after the death of Cousin, Eclecti- 
cism constantly lost ground. Indeed, more than 
one philosopher whose metaphysical convictions 
were not really very different from those of Eclecti- 
cism, honestly felt compelled to combat it in order 
to establish his own views. 

On the other hand, whilst the spirit of Positivism 
was constantly gaining new influence and spreading 
by a thousand channels through the mass of the 
nation, the adherents of the system properly so 
called did not increase in numbers. The peculiar 
style and the extravagant pretensions of Auguste 
Comte’s later works had done great injustice to the 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT. AAI 


very essence of La Philosophie Positive, with the 
original text of which few people were acquainted. 
The schism in the school and the quarrels which 
ensued had also produced an unfortunate impres- 
sion. Littré, the best known standard-bearer of 
the doctrine, aithough a dissenting disciple, was a 
scientist rather than a philosopher, and if he made 
clear Comte’s copious and prolix thought, we must 
confess it was at the cost of its richness and depth. 
Orthodox Positivists, under the guidance of M. 
Pierre Laffitte, kept close within their church. The 
time had come for the revival of metaphysical 
speculation. 


This revival, which had already given tokens of 
its approach before the middle of the century, 
assumed various shapes according to the predomi- 
nance in it of the spirit of dogmatic metaphysics, 
or of the influence of the Kantian criticism. The 
philosophy of M. Ravaisson belongs to the first 
class, and is derived in various proportions from 
Aristotle, Leibniz, and Schelling. According to 
M. Ravaisson, all philosophical systems may be 
reduced to three types, which are so many points 
of view from which the truth is more or less thor- 
oughly perceived. On the lowest stage are the 
empiric philosophies. They are blind to all that is 
not revealed to the senses. These systems are not 
false in their affirmations; but what they deny is 
infinitely more real than what they take to be the 
only reality. Above these, on an intermediate 


442 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


stage, rank the philosophies of the understanding, 
such as Stoicism and Kantism. They recognise, 
indeed, that the mind has its proper activity, but 
they believe it incapable of rising above certain 
insurmountable barriers, such as time, space, caus- 
ality, and there they stop. Lastly, on the summit, 
are the systems of metaphysics which have under- 
stood that sentient and even discursive knowledge 
would not be possible did there not exist an intui- 
tion of the reason, in which real being, the abso- 
lute, reveals itself without any intermedium, and by 
which reason is united to the absolute as to the per- 
fect principle of all existence, of all knowledge, of 
all beauty; and ‘of, all. forces. To) this) systemeare 
added a philosophy of nature which shows the 
eternal ascent of imperfect beings towards the all- 
perfect being who is both their cause and their end, 
and a philosophy of history which sees in religion 
and art revelations parallel to that of reason. 

The philosophy of Secrétan, contemporary with 
that of M. Ravaisson, is also allied to Schelling’s 
second system, but more closely. It has moral and 
religious tendencies. M. Secrétan’s main effort 
was to reconcile and even to identify with the dog- 
mas of his Christian belief the metaphysical conclu- 
sions which result from his speculation. He wasa 
Protestant and accordingly enjoyed the liberty 
necessary to treat such questions. He speaks asa 
theologian no less than asa philosopher when he 
touches upon the formidable problems of the origin 
of the world, of the divine personality, and of the 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT. 443 


explanation of evil. His supreme principle is the 
idea of God's absolute liberty, which great meta- 
physicians, such as Descartes, had already affirmed 
before him. From it he infers the possibility of 
contingency in the world and of liberty in man. 

In the latter part of his life Secrétan had lost 
much of his interest in such a lofty and abstruse 
science of metaphysics. Not that he had ceased to 
believe it true; but he thought it less necessary. 
Duty, being manifested to the conscience as a cate- 
gorical imperative, now seemed to him a sufficient 
revelation of the Absolute. Therefore, laying aside 
these speculative difficulties which are calculated to 
make even the most powerful minds dizzy, he 
directed his efforts to moral and social questions. 
He felt how serious are the problems set before all 
Europe by socialism, and sought the solution of 
these, not as an economist, but as a philosopher 
and a Christian. Yet it was chiefly his Pzlosophie 
de la Liberté which exercised upon French thought 
a slow but deep and lasting influence. This influ- 
ence is found more or less distinctly permeating the 
numerous philosophies of liberty which have 
appeared in the second half of the present century, 
and is particularly visible in M. Fouillée’s teachings. 


If Kant’s philosophy met with little response in 
France in the first half of this century, it was not 
because it was unknown; on the contrary, even in 
the earlier years of the century we find it mentioned 
and criticised. But no one had stopped to investi- 


444 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


gate it thoroughly, either because many thought 
with Schelling and Hegel that it suffered from being 
over-subjective; or more probably because, as most 
eclectic philosophers said, its idealism seemed to 
end in a sort of scepticism. As Kant denies to 
human reason the capacity to solve metaphysical 
problems dogmatically, to demonstrate the existence 
of God and the immortality of the soul, he is in 
their eyes a sceptic. All the arguments against 
sceptics in general hold good against him, and there 
is no need of paying any further attention to him. 
So it happened that the first men who began after- 
wards to study the text of Kant felt as though 
they were making a discovery. Instead of a nega- 
tive and sceptical system, they found one of the 
most powerful efforts ever made by the human 
mind to measure the scope of its own faculties and 
to reconcile the demands of science with those of 
morality. The effect of this discovery was not 
long delayed; it gave a new impulse to philosophical 
studies in France, and several original systems 
appeared, all drawing inspiration from Kant’s ideas. 

These were chiefly idealistic systems, as had 
been the case in Germany also. M. Lachelier, for 
instance, in seeking for the fundamental principles 
of induction, came to the conclusion that a science 
of nature would be an impossibility if the laws of 
thought were not at the same time, as Kant main- 
tained, the constitutive laws of nature. But for 
all that, M. Lachelier does not adopt the theory of 
space, time, and categories enunciated by Kant in 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT. 445 


the Critique of Pure Reason, which concedes to our 
science only a relative value, and denies to man the 
knowledge of things as they are in themselves. 
M. Lachelier, on the contrary, believes that there is 
a method—i. e., reflexion—by which our thought 
may contemplate and possess itself in its very 
essence, and that having reached this point, it has 
attained to absolute being and has nothing to seek 
beyond itself. This was a singularly refined form 
of idealism, which goes beyond Kant and connects 
with Leibniz; sensible knowledge being conceived, 
after the fashion of Leibniz; as an obscure form of 
intellection. The concepts of space and time, 
instead of being imposed upon human knowledge, 
as in Kant’s system, without our knowing how or 
why, are deduced from the very essence of thought 
by an effort of reflexion. Thus a purely idealistic 
doctrine is propounded, according to which ‘‘ideas 
are given before sensations and laws before facts.”' 
After beingrexpounded’ in *Ttectures: given at: the 
Ecole Normale, and summed up in a vigourous and 
concise little book, this form of idealism had to 
struggle against the diffuse influence of Positivism, 
and against the increased favour bestowed upon 
English Empiricism. It aroused and maintained a 
taste for metaphysical speculation. Itself a product 
of Kant’s critical philosophy, it occasioned in its 
turn the production of new doctrines, which owed 
to it at least their initiative. 

Such is the doctrine of M. Boutroux, who, in 
his remarkably profound book, La Contingence des 


446 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Lots de la Nature, asked whether the laws of 
nature were absolutely necessary, or whether they 
might not admit of some sort of contingency afford- 
ing scope for the free activity of rational beings. 
He proved that an absolutely rigourous necessity is 
inconceivable to our minds; then from a scientific 
point of view he pointed out further that even the 
laws of science do not imply the absolute necessi- 
tarianism which has been claimed forthem. As 
we consider more complex and richer orders of 
reality, after the world of inanimate nature the 
world of life, after the world of life the world of 
thought and morality, the degree of contingency 
permitted by the laws of phenomena also becomes 
more apparent, and liberty at last asserts its pres- 
ence in man’s consciousness. That which is 
subject to measurement and calculation, which 
presents an aspect of perfect regularity, uniform- 
ity, and necessity, is but the surface of things. 
At bottom Leibniz’s principle of the indiscern- 
ible is true; there never are two entirely iden- 
tical beings or phenomena; no general formula 
is adequate to the ever-changing spontaneity 
of reality. But M. Boutroux, who has a thorough 
knowledge of the great systems of the past, and 
has thoroughly investigated their evolution, pre- 
serves a critical attitude towards metaphysical 
principles instead of merely drawing these infer- 
ences from them. He is alive to the postulates 
and results of positive sciences, and respectful to 
experience, even while examining and interpreting 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT. 447 


it. He is determined to sacrifice no portion of 
reality, and to give their due share to facts as well 
as to ideas, to science as well as to morals. 


From Kant again, and in a smaller degree from 
Hume and from A. Comte, is derived the philos- 
ophy of M. Renouvier. His Essazs de Critique 
Générale mark an era in the history of French 
philosophy of the nineteenth century. ~ Like A. 
Comte and several other vigourous thinkers of the 
time, M. Renouvier had received his training in 
the study of mathematical sciences at the Ecole 
Polytechnique. These sciences, and also his con- 
victions concerning social problems, induced M. 
Renouvier to study the philosophical questions on 
which all others depend. He could not be satisfied 
with the doctrines which were popular in his youth. 
We have heard how he condemned Eclecticism with 
the utmost severity. He reproaches Positivism 
with its empiric dogmatism which will not take the 
trouble even to justify itself, with its presumption 
in attempting to ‘‘organise science and religion,”’ 
and to solve in a negative way the question of 
‘‘possibilities which ought to be the prerogative of 
free belief.’’ But he accepts this Positivist princi- 
ple—viz., that our knowledge pertains only to phe- 
nomena and the laws of phenomena—a principle, 
moreover, in accordance with the results of the 
philosophy of Hume and Kant. 

M. Renouvier gave to his doctrine the name of 
Critzcisme. It manifests its Kantian origin, both 


448 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


in basing the solution of philosophical problems on 
a previous criticism of the human understanding, 
and in its way of stating the moral problem. But 
M. Renouvier radically modifies Kant’s theory of 
knowledge. True, he also states that time and 
space are not realities in themselves, and that our 
thought operates by means of categories (of which 
M. Renouvier furthermore draws up a new list.) 
True, he thence infers, again following Kant, that 
we know nothing but phenomena, and that in 
every cognition the part of the mind which knows 
is inseparable from that of the object which is 
known. But beyond phenomena, Kant admitted 
a world of ‘‘noumena”’ (Dinge an sich) inaccessible 
to our knowledge, and yet the foundation of the 
reality of phenomena. In these “‘noumena’’ M. 
Renouvier sees but a last remnant of the ‘‘sub- 
of the old metaphysics so aptly criticised 
by Hume and which Kant retained only at the 
cost of self-contradiction. In accord on this point 
with nearly all the neo-Kantians, M. Renouvier 
rejects these ‘‘noumena’’ which Kant himself ad- 
mitted to be absolutely unknowable. He holds that 
there is no reality but that given in consciousness. 

For a while M. Renouvier inclined towards 
Hegelianism, and thought that, though to our finite 
understanding two contradictory propositions ex- 
clude each other, from an absolute point of view 
they may be reconciled, or even support each other. 
But he soon assumed the contrary position and 
afterwards made it a rule to consider as false what- 


bed 


stances 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT. 449 


ever he found incompatible with the supreme log- 
ical law of our thought, called the principle of con- 
tradiction; and he constructed the whole of his 
philosophy in accordance with the rigourous appli- 
cation of this rule. 

For instance, he owed to it the solution of Kant’s 
antinomies; or, rather, he showed that, had Kant 
observed this rule, he would not have formulated 
his antinomies. For one ought not to ask whether 
space is finite or infinite, whether the world had a 
beginning or not. To say that space is infinite, or 
that the world had no beginning, is equivalent to 
admitting that an infinite number is possible and 
even real. Now, according to M. Renouvier, the 
realisation of an infinite number is an absurdity, a 
contradiction in terms; therefore such a number 
does not exist, and therefore we must admit that 
space is not infinite, that the world had a beginning, 
that the ascending series of causes has a first term, 
and consequently that contingency and liberty both 
have a place in the world of phenomena. Add to 
this the exclusion of the idea of substance, —which, 
if once tolerated in a system, leads inevitably to 
unity of substance, that is, to pantheism and fatal- 
ism,—and you have the elements of a system at 
once idealistic and phenomenalistic, which under- 
takes to establish, as conclusions of critical study, 
man’s liberty and personality, an order in nature 
compatible with contingency, and the existence of 
an author (M. Renouvier for a long time said, of 
several authors) of the universe. 


450 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Does Critictsme then, after a long and toilsome 
circuit, simply come back to the theses of the old 
dogmatic metaphysics? It would be unfair to say 
so, though the differences are not so great as one 
would at first imagine. But the road foilowed by 
Criticisme is a new one, and M. Renouvier flattered 
himself with occupying a position that the old met- 
aphysics had never reached. For want of having 
made a criticism of the human mind, for want of 
having acknowledged that we know phenomena only, 
for want of having understood that certitude is but 
a form of belief and that liberty is implied in every 
affirmation, these ‘‘substantialistic’’ doctrines were 
inevitably condemned by the internal logic of their 
own principles to deny, in spite of themselves, 
man’s liberty and the distinction between God and 
the world. Phenomenalistic Cvztzctsme alone can 
be logical in affirming these things and in affirming 
them freely. 

With M. Renouvier, even more decidedly than 
with Kant, the supreme interest is that of action, 
and therefore the centre of gravity of philosophy 
lies in morals. In man’s conscience is to be found 
the only really fixed. point, the only belief unas- 
sailed by doubt, the revelation of the absolute, on 
which, for us, all the rest depends, and which itself 
depends on nothing else. The ethics of duty is 
admirably emphasised in M. Renouvier’s works. 
It is the ever-present inspiration and the very soul 
and centre of his doctrine. It is this which has 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT. 451 


chiefly contributed to give it a firm hold on many 
of our contemporaries. 

Social ethics is treated much more fully in M. 
Renouvier than in Kant, as might be expected 
from a former admirer of St. Simon and Fourier. 
But while rightly recognising the fact of social inter- 
dependency and its consequences, he vigourously 
opposes the Positivist theory of progress, and ina 
general way, all philosophy of history which tends 
to fatalism. He regards the complete subordina- 
tion of the individual to society as a baleful thing. 
His only hope for the future is from the free and 
deliberate efforts of the individual. His social ideal 
is above all one of justice. 

After combating for a long time with passionate 
earnestness the philosophy officially taught in 
France, Crzticisme at last made its way into that 
very official teaching. In more than one case it 
triumphed now over Eclecticism, which was decid- 
edly out of favour, and again over even the dog- 
matic idealistic systems. Many university profes- 
sors in our days adhere to the philosophy of M. 
Renouvier and of his faithful disciples, MM. Pillon 
and Dauriac. The summons had been given more 
than fifteen years ago by M. Brochard in his work 
entitled’ De Erreur.  Criticisme is clearly the 
form of neo-Kantism which has been best accli- 
mated in this country. Whatever may be the 
future of the system, it has at least manifested 
vigourous life, and effectually contributed to restore 
the unprejudiced study of philosophy in France. 


452 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Opposed in many respects to M. Renouvier’s 
philosophy, there arose another system, the suc- 
cess of which was no less considerable—the system 
ofwM>. Fouillée; ans extremely Mprolitep writer, 
endowed with inventive imagination and wonderful 
dialectical resources, his style as easy as that of M. 
Renouvier is laborious. M. Fouillée has already 
presented to the public a long series of works, some 
historical, some dogmatic, and others critical and 
controversial, in which his doctrines have gradually 
taken shape. His first purpose seemed to be to 
substitute for Eclecticism a philosophical synthesis 
at once very comprehensive and very consistent. 
Being remarkably well informed on the history of 
systems and quick at discovering how the consti- 
tutive principles of the chief ones among these may 
adapt themselves to one another, or cover or sup- 
plement one another, he sought a higher point of 
view, whence he might survey all the systems he 
meant to reconcile. He had studied profoundly 
the modern philosophies of liberty, but he was no 
less indebted to the great systems of antiquity, and 
particularly to the philosophy of Plato, which had 
been the subject of his first work. One may believe 
that he found a model for his own system in this 
broad theory of ideas, into which Plato could intro- 
duce all the essential parts of the chief Greek philos- 
ophies previous to his own without impairing its 
harmonious unity. 

M. Fouillée acknowledges the advance made by 
the Kantian criticism over the former systems of 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT. 453 


metaphysics; but he does not hesitate to criticise 
the philosophy of Kant himself, and refuses to 
accept either his ethics or his theory of knowledge. 
The leading idea of his own system is the hypoth- 
esis of the zdées-forces. On it he founded his 
psychology, his ethics, his general theory of nature 
and society, and lastly a doctrine of metaphysics 
based on experience. 

An idea, according to him, is not a mere repre- 
sentation—that is, a sort of mental reproduction of 
a real or supposed object outside itself; an idea is 
at the same time a force working for its own real- 
isation. For instance, liberty is not a reality given 
objectively, of which we have an idea because we 
perceive it; but, on the contrary, it is because we 
have an idea of our own liberty, because we believe 
in it, because we adapt our conduct to this belief, 
that we are actually free, and that our freedom is 
effectual in the world of phenomena. Our ideas 
and feelings are conditions of real internal change, 
and consequently factors in mental evolution, not 
mere signs of an evolution wrought independently of 
them by exclusively physical causes. Furthermore, 
every internal change, being inseparable from an 
external change or motion, produces effects upon 
the external world, so that ideas, having acted 
inwardly, at the same time find outward expression 
with all thesresultine: Aconsequences. +7, Thus: the 
internal and the external efficacy of mental states 
are inseparable, because of the fundamental unity 
between the physical and the mental. 


454 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


The idea is, therefore, inseparable from action— 
that is to say, from motion. ‘‘It is a form, not 
only of thought, but of volition; or rather, it is no 
longer a form, but an act, conscious of its own 
direction, quality, and intensity.’’ This indissolu- 
ble union between thought and action is the all-im- 
portant psychological law summed up in the term 
zaée-force. Not that ideas intervene physically so 
as to interfere with the universal mechanism. This 
would represent the zdée-force as an object endowed 
with a certain amount of persistent energy. Noth- 
ing is further from M. Fouillée’s thought. He does 
not conceive ideas as being apart from one another 
and endowed each with its individual power. Every 
state of consciousness is the resultant of a prodi- 
gious number of actions and reactions between us 
and the exterior world, while its correlative is the 
sum of our cerebrations at any given moment. 

From this conception M. Fouillée easily derives 
a criticism of the theories put forward by spiritual- 
ism and materialism on the relation between the 
soul and the body, then a criticism of the notions 
of soul and body themselves, and finally the elements 
of a general theory of the universe, in which the 
world of motions being conceived as inseparable 
from the world of ideas, there is established a real 
monism, the monism of zdées-forces, superior both 
to materialism and to idealism. It is easy to 
understand how the same principle is applicable to 
the philosophy of history and of law, and to the 
solution of sociological questions, which were 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT. A455 


always of special interest to M. Fouillée. In all 
these matters he can stand above the empiricist and 
rationalistic systems which indefinitely oppose each 
other without either of them ever gaining a decisive 
victory; he shows everywhere, to use Leibniz’s 
expression, that they are right in their affirmations 
and wrong in their negations. His doctrine, in 
short, deals fairly with them in criticising them 
all, and yet remains different from each of them 
even at the moment when he identifies it with some 
aspect of hisowntheory. This broad spirit of con- 
ciliation did not sap M. Fouillée’s vigour, and we 
need only read his Critique des Systemes de Morale 
Contemporains to feel sure that the weak point of a 
system cannot easily escape him. 

M. Fouillée’s philosophy is certainly one of those 
which best represent the collective aspirations and 
intellectual needs of the present time. It contains 
nearly every element of modern thought; the crit- 
ical spirit which recognises no barriers and claims a 
right, despite the school of Cretzczsme, to test the 
very idea of duty; a tendency to adopt the histor- 
ical and evolutionary point of view; respect for 
positive science; ataste for social problems; an 
effort to construct a positive psychology, and to 
found a science of metaphysics that shall sincerely 
take into account the modern theories of knowledge. 
The greatness and inherent interest of such an 
effort is evident to all eyes; time will show whether 
a reconciliation between opposite systems is not 
often achieved by M. Fouillée at the expense of the 


4560 © MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


integrity of the system which effects the reconcilia- 
tion, and whether the framework of his philosophy, 
the conception of the zaées-forces, is strong enough 
to support the weight of such a comprehensive doc- 
trine. 

We must not separate M. Fouillée from his 
nephew Guyau, whose genius, prematurely lost to 
philosophy, he celebrated in touching terms. 
Guyau, who died at thirty-three, left works suff- 
ciently complete to demonstrate clearly the origi- 
nality of his mind. It was not his ambition to 
attempt a conception of the whole universe; he 
feared that a metaphysical system, of whatever 
sort, would always be lacking in stability. His 
efforts were especially directed towards the moral, 
zsthetic, social, and religious problems which con- 
front man’s conscience in our times, the old solu- 
tions of which are seldom satisfactory to any con- 
science which is honest with itself. Guyau thought 
that a new solution might be sought in sociology. 
‘‘Guyau’s leading idea,’’ said M. Fouillée, ‘‘is that 
of /zfe as the principle common to art, ethics, and 
religion. According to him—and this is the gener- 
ative conception of his whole system—life, rightly 
understood, involves in its very intensity a principle 
of natural expansion, fruitfulness, and generosity. 
From this he concluded that normal life naturally 
reconciles in itself the individual and the social 
point of view.’’ By showing this social aspect of 
individual life, we might establish at the same time 
both art and morals on a basis which should hence- 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT. AS. 


forth be solid. And Guyau hopes for the creation, 
in the twentieth century, of a social science based 
on a scientific psychology, the first rudiments of 
which we behold in our own time. The influence 
of A. Comte is obvious here; it also appears else- 
where in Guyau’s thought, for instance, in his con- 
ception of the immortality of the soul. His works 
nevertheless bear a strongly marked individual char- 
acter, due both to his passionate earnestness of 
thought and to the charm of his style. 


Few doctrines in the period we are considering 
contain as many keen, deep, and original views as 
the works of Cournot. Yet his fame has not 
extended beyond a very limited circle. There was, 
indeed, nothing in his style capable of attracting 
the general public; yet more than one of those who 
attract the attention of the public have read Cour- 
not and availed themselves of their reading. A 
prudent, methodical mind, well trained in the prac- 
tice of the sciences, averse to all hasty generalisa- 
tion, Cournot tried to determine what we may know 
of the foundations of our knowledge. Most philos- 
ophers have sought the solution of the problem 
in the analysis of our faculty of knowledge. Cour- 
not followed another method. He carefully inves- 
tigated each of the sciences which the human 
intellect has built up in order to gain a better 
knowledge of the universe and to exercise upon it 
practical influence; he analysed the principles on 
which these sciences depended for the establishment 


458 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


of their laws, and sought to discover whether it 
were possible by bringing together the principles 
and methods of the different sciences to obtain a 
group of fundamental ideas. This group will then 
constitute his philosophy. 

Three ideas are of paramount importance in 
this doctrine, which shuns all @ przorz deductions 
and constitutes a system only in so far as experi- 
ence warrants: these are the ideas of order, chance, 
and probability. Order exists in the universe. It 
is the regular recurrence of the series of phenomena 
that makes it possible for us to acquire a knowledge 
of their laws, and the faculty of putting the uni- 
versal order into an intelligible form is what is called 
in us reason. But this order is not such that we 
can deduce the laws of phenomena by means of an 
abstract action of the mind. Induction is necessary 
to arrive at these laws, and induction does not con- 
vey absolute certitude, but only probability, which 
may be practically equivalent to certitude, but 
leaves room theoretically for contrary chances. 
For chance is not a word invented to conceal our 
ignorance, as has been claimed by philosophers; it 
is a positive factor in the sum total of reality; it 
comprises all that results from the concurrence of 
independent series of causes. Its part in history 
is undeniable; it is no less so in the evolution of 
our universe, which may be considered as a sort 
of history. But whatever be the actual part played 
by chance, it is a fact that the various series of phe- 
nomena occur in a regular way, and that order 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT. 459 


exists. The conclusion we are to derive from this 
must not be more absolute than the principle itself; 
this order comprises possible irregularities and 
exceptions; outside the domain of mathematics, we 
must always make a principle of reserving a place 
for what may appear without our being able to 
foresee it. Therefore no science of real phenomena 
can claim absolute certitude, moral sciences less 
than any other, and philosophy still less than ethics. 
Philosophy is merely an attempt to connect what has 
been taught us by the study of different classes of 
phenomena, and to conceive order as universal. The 
controversies of philosophers show sufficiently that 
several conceptions of this kind are equally possible. 
Philosophy proceeds naturally from man’s reflexion 
upon science; but it is not itself a science. 

This doctrine, clearly akin to Positivism and 
Criticisme, is nevertheless separate and distinct from 
them, and even emphasizes some of their defects. 
It warns us against the too often rash affirmations 
and conjectures in which our reason indulges. But 
can a philosophy exist that dares not assert itself as 
a philosophy? May it not be to its extreme cau- 
tiousness that Cournot’s doctrine owes the relative 
obscurity in which, despite its rare value, it has 
remained? A philosophical doctrine can be but a 
great hypothesis; this may be a weakness, but it is 
also the main reason for its existence. 


We are thus brought to the large category of 
thinkers who believed that such a hypothesis was 


460 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


henceforth impossible, and who gave up all attempts 
to seek for a total and absolute explanation of the 
universe. Therefore, they abandon the pursuit of 
essences, causes, and ends. They are still philos- 
ophers, but have renounced the name of metaphy- 
sician. This positivistic tendency is found in the 
most various domains. 

We must first mention men of science, such as 
the physiologist, Claude Bernard, and the chemist 
M. Berthelot, who, while enriching science with 
valuable discoveries, have also reflected upon the 
nature and scope of science itself. Independently 
of his interesting observations on the experimental 
method in general, Claude Bernard has endeavoured 
to determine exactly the object of physiological 
science, and his conclusions agree most strikingly 
with what Auguste Comte has said on biological 
philosophy. On the one hand, Claude Bernard 
disencumbers physiology from the last remnants of 
metaphysics which were still clinging to it. Sci- 
ence, here as elsewhere, seeks only to know phe- 
nomena and theirlaws. It has nothing to do with 
a so-called ‘‘vital principle’’ to ‘‘explain’’ those 
phenomena, which, considered singly, are never 
other than physical and chemical phenomena, 
which are identical in living and lifeless bodies. 
But, on the other hand, Claude Bernard does not 
mean to ‘‘reduce’’ physiology to physics and chem- 
istry. He is fully aware that this would be equiva- 
lent, as August Comte said, to explaining the 
superior by the inferior. He shows that life has 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT. 461 


something specific and irreducible to a physical and 
chemical mechanism. He emphasises the part 


be) 


played by the ‘“‘dominating idea,’’ which seems to 
preside over the evolution of the living being, and 
the necessity that the biologist who wishes to 
understand one phenomenon should connect it with 
all the others that take place at the same time, 
and even with those which shaped the past life of 
the’ creature. | “In (short; Claude “Bernard’s” chief 
object is to establish the positive character of 
physiology and its connexion with the other and 
older positive sciences, yet without infringing upon 
its separate, original and irreducible character. 

M. Berthelot, being equally versed in chemistry 
and in the history of its beginnings, arrived also at 
general views not very different from those of the 
Positive philosophy. He thinks that the progress 
of science will gradually make a theological and 
metaphysical attitude untenable. As_ minds 
become familiar with the knowledge of natural 
laws, they become incapable of harbouring superstt- 
tions and arbitrary hypotheses. In this M. 
Berthelot shares the convictions and hopes of the 
philosophers and scientific men of the eighteenth 
century. He shows that great changes have 
already been wrought by the influence of the posi- 
tive sciences; and yet nearly all of these sciences 
are just beginning their career, and their influence 
has only begun to triumph over violent and des- 
perate opposition. What, then, may we not expect 
from the future, when these sciences shall hold 


462 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


undisputed sway, and shall have made discoveries 
beyond all our present dreams, which will probably 
transform both the conditions of social life and the 
traditional rules of morality? For the moral sci- 
ences are destined to become positive, after all 
others, it is true, but no less surely. 

This last stage seems to have been attained by 
psychology in our days. M. Ribot, casting aside 
the semi-literary and semi-metaphysical psychology 
of the Eclectic school, initiated the study of scientific 
psychology in France. He is not a Positivist, inas- 
much as he does not, like Comte, regard metaphys- 
ical investigations as useless and even injurious; he 
has written an excellent little book on Schopen- 
hauer, and wishes to leave all questions open. But 
his conception of psychology is in perfect con- 
formity with the positivist spirit. He defines it as 
a science of facts, the sole object of which is the 
search for the laws concerning these facts. The 
psychologist needs not choose between materialism 
and spiritualism, or decide whether it is the soul 
that acts upon the body or the body upon the soul: 
this is the business of the metaphysician. 

The psychologist knows the facts from inward 
observation, and studies them according to the 
objective method. He does not regard psychical 
facts as constituting by themselves an order of 
realities independent of all others; on the contrary, 
though careful not to say that facts of consciousness 
are but a phase of physiological facts (an unverifi- 
able and metaphysical assertion which oversteps the 


« 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT. 463 


limits of his science), he studies, nevertheless, the 
facts of consciousness as far as possible, only for the 
purpose of seeking for and establishing their associ- 
ation with the physical facts of the nervous system. 
Adding example to precept, M. Ribot has published 
a number of books in which the keenest psychologic 
faculty is combined with a strictly scientific method. 
In each of his works he endeavours to reduce some 
special laws to one general psychological law which 
shall furnish the reason for a great many facts. 
He holds that psychologic science leads to theories 
which are at least provisionally satisfactory, with- 
out being absolutely demonstrated, similar in this 
respect to the great hypotheses of physics. Fol- 
lowing M. Ribot came a whole school of young 
psychologists who abstain from even such theories, 
and who apply all their energies to laboratory 
investigations of a very special and often minute 
nature. There remains nothing in common between 
psychology understood in this way and what the 
Eclecticists or Scotchmen called by that name. 
Sociology is far from having assumed such a 
decidedly positive form. It still retains more than 
one of the features which according to Comte mark 
a science yet in the metaphysical stage. Works on 
sociology are still chiefly devoted to defending the 
legitimacy, the object, or the method of this science. 
Those who treat of it rarely take up the science at 
the point where their predecessors had left it; each 
of them contributes his own definition of social 
facts, upsets the edifice raised by the others, and 


464 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


goes about building anew one. There is nothing 
surprising in this state of sociology. Social phe- 
nomena being the most complex of all, sociology 
must necessarily be the last science to reach the 
positive stage. Still, among the very numerous 
attempts made to organise it, some will certainly 
be made use of by the science of the future. Such 
are the works of MM. Espinas, Durkheim, and 
Tarde, vto "cite ‘onlya few) names,» > \iriicninas 
comes first in order of date, with a fine study on 
Les Soctétés Animales. M. Durkheim, in his Dzvz- 
ston au Travail Social and in his Régles de la 
Méthode Soctologique, endeavoured to treat the facts 
of moral life after the method used in the positive 
sciences—that is, not only to observe them care- 
fully, to describe and classify them, but to find out 
in what way they are capable of becoming objects of 
scientific study, and to this end, to discover in 
them some objective element which will admit of 
exact determination, or if possible, of measurement. 
If the definition of the ‘‘sociological fact’’ were 
sufficiently exact, the greatest difficulty would be 
overcome, and social science could then progress 
rapidly. Like other positive sciences, it would 
give man ‘‘foresight and power.’’ 

M. Tarde feels much less strongly than M. 
Durkheim the need of making sociological investi- 
gations rigourously scientific. He studies social 
phenomena now as a psychologist, now as a his- 
torian, and again as a philosopher, the comparative 
method, broadly and freely applied, being his 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT. 465 


favourite procedure. He has given us profound and 
thorough criticism of Italian theories of criminality, 
particularly those of Lombroso, and his own Phz/oso- 
phe Pénale contains many views which are original, 
comprehensive, and often suggestive. The same 
thing may be said of his Lozs de l’ Imitation and 
most of his other works. Amid the sometimes 
crowded and rather desultory abundance of his 
ideas, there are found a number of more systematic, 
esthetic and even metaphysical convictions, which 
now and then make themselves manifest, and give 
unity to the work. 


We are very far from having given even a sum- 
mary idea of the active contemporary philosophical 
movement in France. How many interesting works 
we are obliged to pass over in silence! Let us at 
least mention, in psychology, under its various 
forms: Fr. Paulhan (L’ Activité Mentale, Les Phé- 
nomenes Affectifs, etc.), Egger (La Parole Inté- 
rieure),Pierre Janet (L’ Automatisme Psychologique), 
Féré (Sensation et Mouvement), Binet (La Psychologie 
du Ratsonnement, L’ Année Psychologique), H. Berg- 
son (Essat sur les Données Immédiates de la Con- 
science, Maticre et Mémoire); in metaphysics, MM. 
Evellin (De 2 /nfinz) and Rauh (Le Fondement Méta- 
physique de la Morale); in logic, MM. Liard (Des 
Définitions Géométriques et des Définitions Empt- 
riques, etc.), Brochard (De l’Erreur, Les Sceptiques 
Grecs), Naville (La Logique de l Hypothese); in 
moral and religious philosophy, MM. Marion (La 


466 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


Solidarité Morale), Ollé-Laprune (La Certztude 
Morale, Le Prix de la Vze, etc.), and Sabatier 
(Essai @ une Philosophie de la Religion); in sociology, 
MM. de Roberty (La Soctologie, Auguste Comte et 
Herbert Spencer, etc.), De Greef (Les Lots Soctolo- 
gigues, Le Transformisme Social, etc.), Lacombe 
(Les Lots de lf Histoire), Henry Michel (L’ldée de 
l’ Etat); in the philosophy of the sciences, MM. 
Delboeuf (Le Sommezl et les Réves, La Matwere 
Brute et la Matiere Vivante), Hannequin (Essaz sur 
l! Hypothése des Atomes), Couturat (De LInfini 
Mathématique); in esthetics, MM. Sully-Prud- 
homme (De l’Expresston dans les Beaux-Arts), and 
Séailles (Essaz sur le Génie dans Art); in the his- 
tory of philosophy, MM. Adam (La Philosophie en 
France au XIX* Siecle), Tannery (Pour 1 Histotre 
de la Science Hellene), Lyon (L’ldéalisme en Angle- 
terre, La Philosophie de Hobbes), Delbos (Le Probleme 
Moral dans la Philosophie de Spinoza), Denis (f7/ts- 
torre des Idées et des Théortes Morales dans 
f’Antiquité), and so many others whom we regret 
not having the space to mention. 

The very number of all those we should have 
cited will be our excuse. True, this philosophical 
activity, of which the Bzbliothéque de Philosophie 
contemporaine gives so many tokens, seems at the 
same time to be quite desultory and fragmentary. 
But perhaps we overrate the diversity of the philo- 
sophical tendencies of the present time. Perhaps 
we are labouring under an optical illusion inevitable 
to those who try to take a general view of contem- 


THE CONTEMPORARY MOVEMENT. 467 


porary events. Probably many an important point 
of resemblance between doctrines escapes us, 
because the very spirit of our time, with which we 
are all imbued, is expressed in these resemblances, 
while, on the other hand, we take too much notice 
of secondary differences. The historian in the 
next century will discern the due proportions, and 
portray more easily than we can do the leading 
features of such a complex evolution. 


CHAPDERYAVI 


CONCLUSION 


IF we cast a general glance upon the three centuries 
that have elapsed between the birth of Descartes 
and the present day, two great features are at once 
perceptible. French philosophy during that period 
offers characteristics peculiar to itself, and yet it is 
inseparable from the general evolution of European 
philosophy; for is it not closely linked with the 
development of science, and is not this development 
the common work of civilised nations? The inter- 
change of philosophical ideas has been scarcely less 
active than that of scientific discoveries. Especially 
has this been the case between France, England, 
and) Germany. Indeed; more than once eachaor 
the three countries welcomed from abroad ideas 
which had originated at home but a short time 
before without having attracted much attention. If 
we were to imagine a sort of international clearing- 
house for philosophical accounts, we should some- 
times see the same doctrine passed in the course of 
one generation from the debit side to the credit 
side of one and the same nation. 

What really belongs to each nation in this com- 
mon evolution? It is seldom the very substance of 
a philosophical doctrine, but rather the stamp of its 

468 


CONCLUSION. 469 


peculiar genius, the form and expression given to 
the doctrine, the expansive force which the thinkers 
and writers communicate to it. In this sense there 
is a French philosophy. In the historical sequence 
of French philosophers continuity is the result of 
the persistency of a certain number of common fea- 
tures, expressive of the very genius of the nation. 
Even as in the seventeenth century, the prestige of 
antiquity and the ascendancy of the literatures of 
Spain and ltaly rather nurtured than stunted the 
admirable blossom of French literature, so Bacon 
and Locke in the eighteenth century, and Kant and 
Hegel in the nineteenth, furnished to French philos- 
ophy a rich supply of material which the French 
mind transformed and by assimilating made its own. 

English philosophers, in general, have occupied 
very diverse social positions, and their minds have 
been trained in most various studies. Bacon was 
a statesman, Locke a physician, Berkeley a bishop; 
in the present century many have been physiolo- 
gists, others have taken a part in public affairs. 
We cannot, however, draw from this any indication 
respecting the character of English philosophy. 
In Germany, a certain number of philosophers, and 
among the greatest, began by studying divinity, 
and this fact was not without its consequences. In 
France it was mathematics that was first studied by 
many a great philosopher—for instance, in the 
seventeenth century Descartes, the inventor of 
analytical geometry; Pascal, a geometrician anda 
physicist; Malebranche, a member of the Academy 


A470 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


of Sciences; inthe eighteenth, Fontenelle, D’Alem- 
bert, and Condorcet; in the nineteenth, August 
Comte, Renouvier, and Cournot, to quote but a few 
names. Even among those who are not geome- 
tricians, many were deeply interested in mathemat- 
ics. Voltaire became the herald of Newton in 
France, and Condillac wrote the Langue des Cal- 
culs. It is not likely this could have been a mere 
coincidence, protracted as it was for so long and in 
such a definite way. It seems allowable to infer, 
not that French philosophy was based on mathe- 
matics, but that there has been in France a close 
affinity between the mathematical and the philo- 
sophical spirit. 

Thus, as perfect clearness is an essential feature 
of mathematics, French philosophy was also fond 
of clearness. The ‘“‘philosophy of clear ideas’’ 
which, upon the whole, predominated in France 
under different forms till the end of the eighteenth 
century, proceeded from Descartes. This philos- 
ophy took it for granted that among the various 
ways of representing reality, there is one which is 
adequate and is recognisable on account of its clear- 
ness and its sufficient ‘‘evidence.’’ In this perfectly 
intelligible representation we have truth at its 
source, and though henceforth experience is still 
useful for the confirmation of our conclusions, it is 
no longer necessary for the acquisition of scientific 
knowledge. When in possession of the principles, 
we can deduce the consequences, as is done in 
mathematics. Thus Descartes undertook to con- 


CONCLUSION. 471 


struct the physical universe, if only he were given 
extension and the laws of motion; thus Condillac 
undertook to construct the phenomena and faculties 
of the soul, if only he were given sensation; and 
thus also did Rousseau construct society, and 
Auguste Comte the positive religion. 

Now, to discover principles, as well as to build 
upon those principles, method is necessary. Thence, 
the great importance attached to method by 
nearly all French philosophers. Is it not to method 
that mathematics owes its certainty and fruitfulness? 
The value of science depends upon the strictness of 
its method. Almost every one of the French 
philosophers in his turn composed his Dzscours de 
la Méthode, and ascribed to his method the credit 
of the advance he believed had been achieved 
beyond his predecessors. With Descartes method 
is science itself. With Condillac everything 
depends upon the judicious use of that analysis 
which is capable of discovering the process of 
nature. Lastly, with A. Comte, positive philos- 
ophy is achieved by the application of one and the 
same method to every branch of knowledge. In 
short, when the method is found, the philosophy is 
alreadyubuilt. bie rest wiseanmactter of executron 
which may be more or less complicated and difficult, 
but is not the essential part. In striking contrast 
with the ways of German thought, which is wont to 
construct a body of doctrine first and afterwards 
abstract a method, ‘isi that’ of) the) French, ‘who 
shape their doctrines in accordance with their 


472 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


methods. Here, again, the prevailing need of 
clearness and intelligibleness is manifest in the 
latter; only when the process of reflexion is deter- 
mined beforehand, and sure to reach its mark, does 
reflexion upon reality appear to them profitable and 
even possible. 

Such a philosophy, the constant ambition of 
which is deduction, may comprise among its devo- 
tees many men who are empiricists in method, but 
few who are empiricists by temperament. Compare 
in this respect Locke and Condillac—the one vigilant 
in following up all the devious ways along which 
the observation of facts leads him, the other con- 
cerned above all else to find the ‘‘primitive fact’’ 
from which may be inferred all others. But such 
a philosophy, on the other hand, will scarcely admit 
of the instantaneous divination of the absolute, the 
mystical intuition which is superior to reason and 
which dispenses with logical demonstration. There 
certainly are French mystics, and very notable 
ones, but most of them belong to the history of 
theology rather than to that of philosophy. Those 
who are philosophers, as St. Martin, Ballanche, and 
Quinet, have little of the philosophic spirit, and 
their influence was limited in France, for the precise 
reason that their outpourings and visions puzzled 
those minds whom no philosophy that lacks a 
methodical, rigourous, and lucid form can long 
allure. 

For the same reasons there have been but few 
very original metaphysicians among French philoso- 


CONCLUSION. A73 


phers. They have excelled rather in the philosophy 
of the sciences and in moral philosophy; also in the 
study of the feelings and passions, in the analysis of 
intellectual functions and of the mechanism of polit- 
ical society, and in the systematisation and classifi- 
cation of the sciences. To classify beings or 
phenomena, to discover their natural bonds and 
relations, to rise from particular laws to laws as 
general as possible, was the work to which the 
majority spontaneously devoted themselves. 

By virtue of their undeniable principles and 
rigourous demonstrations, mathematical truths are 
accessible to all rational minds. French philoso- 
phers, who flatter themselves that they employ a no 
less rigorous method and attain to the same degree 
of certainty, claim for their doctrines a universal 
validity similar to that of mathematics. Thence 
the attitude peculiar to them. Being persuaded 
that the truth they have discovered is obvious to 
every mind that follows a suitable method, they do 
not write for a limited circle of philosophers and 
men of science; they pursue, notably in the seven- 
teenth and eighteenth centuries, a sort of intellectual 
proselytism. Their fancied audience is the whole 
of mankind, whom they endeavour to convince, and 
to whom they appeal as judges of the truth of their 
philosophy. 

In consequence, they attempt to eliminate from 
their philosophy its purely national form, which 
they think would make the exposition deficient in 
clearness and obscure the universal character of the 


474 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


doctrine. In moral and social sciences they study 
“society 5: and ) if, they ideal «witha 
given society, it is always with the intention of 
separating what is special to one place and one 
epoch from what is true in all places and epochs. 
This is a feature common to nearly all French phi- 
losophers, to Montesquieu himself, as well as to 
Auguste Comte. Then, just as they imagine their 
doctrine extending over the whole upper stratum of 
the globe, they also seek to go lower down, to 
penetrate to the mass of the people, being con- 
vinced that every rational man, whatever be his 
social condition, can and must appreciate the truth. 
French philosophers, as a rule, are desirous of mak- 
ing themselves accessible to all. Descartes set the 
example by writing his Descours de la Méthode in 
French. The philosophers of the eighteenth cen- 
tury desired, above all else, to be understood by 
every one in France and all over Europe. In the 
nineteenth century many thinkers, entirely occu- 
pied with social questions, attempted to come into 
direct contact with the people. Auguste Comte 
carried on for eighteen years a free public course in 
popular astronomy so as to help in the intellectual 
emancipation of workingmen, and it was upon them 
that he counted chiefly for the success of the Posi- 
tive philosophy. 

This also explains the fact that French philos- 
ophers have nearly always taken care to show that 
their doctrines were in perfect accord with common 
sense—that is to say, with reason freed from tradi- 


é¢ %? 


mat and 


CONCLUSION. 475 


tional prepossessions and prejudices—that even their 
method was no extraordinary contrivance, but a 
mere application of the rules of common-sense. 
Condillac expressly says that ‘‘nature always begins 
aright,’’ and all the men of his time repeated this 
aiter vhimi wiAccordingtomComte ms theniositive 
method is a “‘systematic extension of popular rea- 
Son, 

A philosophy which thus addressed the whole 
of mankind could hardly ignore what alone can 
excite the pinteresh) and jAaxmithemattentionnof, the 
immense majority of men—that is, the practical 
affairs of life and action. And indeed, this philos- 
ophy manifestly showed a tendency to make the 
practical the goal of its speculation, though with- 
out subordinating its freedom of investigation 
exclusively to the idea of immediate utility. Here 
again mathematics provided a sort of model; 
applied mathematics has proven all the more use- 
ful because pure mathematics has pursued theoret- 
ical truth in a more disinterested way. Condorcet, 
and Comte after him, observed that the first geom- 
etricians and astronomers who made it possible to 
determine longitude were not aware that their dis- 
coveries would some day serve to preserve the life 
of seamen. According to Descartes, ethics, medi- 
cine, and mechanics, which are sciences directly 
profitable to man, cannot bear all their fruits until 
the theoretical sciences upon which they are based 
have been fully mastered. 

Thus French philosophers generally believe in 


476 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE, 


the power of man over nature. Whether they be 
necessitarians or not (and it is among them that we 
meet with the greatest number of advocates of free 
will), they are hardly willing to deny that in 
natural, and above all, in social evolution, man’s 
own volition is a factor which must be taken into 
account. Descartes expected from science more 
than we dare hope for now; he thought it would 
some day prolong the term of life indefinitely. 
Everybody knows what faith the ‘‘philosophers’’ of 
the eighteenth century had in the power of educa- 
tion and legislation. And at least in the first half 
of the nineteenth century, French thinkers were 
not over-timid in their political and social concep- 
tions. They wished to find in society, as well as in 
nature, a clear and logical order, justifiable in the 
eyes of reason; and not finding it there, they tried 
to establish it. Even the knowledge of history was 
not always sufficient to warn French philosophers 
against @ priort social constructions. The desire 
for justice being in that case added to the desire for 
order produced in them an almost irresistible incli- 
nation to construct an ideal society, and though 
their doctrines were often chimerical, they were 
also, on the other hand, often humane, generous, 
and suggestive. 


To sum up ina word all these characteristics, 
which, after all, were connected together, there has 
been in French philosophy for three centuries a 
singular persistency of the Cartesian spirit; whether 


CONCLUSION. A477 


the stamp of the first great modern philosopher was 
indelible, or whether—which is more likely—Des- 
cartes expressed in his doctrine the essential fea- 
tures of the French genius, which caused his influ- 
ence to codperate with the tendency of the national 
temperament. This spirit, which had become 
predominant by the end of the seventeenth century, 
was transmitted in the eighteenth through Fonte- 
nelle and Montesquieu, prevailed among the ‘‘ philos- 
ophers,’’ and even in Condillac, and spent itself 
in the French Revolution, to be revived in the 
nineteenth century, modified, but still recognisable, 
in Auguste Comte. This spirit was wonderfully 
adaptable to the task of criticism incumbent upon 
modern philosophy when once out of the Middle 
Ages and past the Renaissance and the Reforma- 
tion. The main object was to definitely separate 
scientific or philosophical speculation from theology, 
and to overthrow the entire body of institutions 
based on a historical tradition which was often 
indefensible, in order to establish in their place 
a just system. To this work French philosophy 
was peculiarly adapted by reason of its rational, 
universal, and humane character, and of its insistence 
upon logical clearness. 

Historians, for instance, were fully aware of this. 
Though the “‘philosophers’’ of the eighteenth cen- 
tury are not very original, and though they repre- 
sent, or think they represent, an empiricism of Eng- 
lish origin, nevertheless they are acknowledged to 
be true representatives of the French spirit, and to 


478 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


have employed in moral and social questions a 
method similar to that of Descartes. Their talent 
as writers, their enthusiasm and their zeal for mak- 
ing proselytes, rendered them formidable adversa- 
ries of the old system, which they attacked from 
every point of view. Through them ideas of 
sereturn: to natures’ fof) yustice, \humanttiymand, 
equality spread triumphantly all over Europe. 
These ideas were prevalent during the second half 
of the eighteenth century, meeting with scarcely any 
opposition. At the end of the century a reaction 
set in against this philosophy almost everywhere, 
coincident with the reaction against the French spirit 
in general in literature and in art, as well as in phi- 
losophy. As early as the beginning of the French 
Revolution the signs of this reaction appeared. 
New doctrines revealed what was abstract and 
superficial in the French philosophy of the eight- 
eenth century. They showed that the “‘humanity’’ 
for which this philosophy constructed a society, a 
political constitution, and an educational system, 
was nothing but an imaginary body of men as they 
might have been just after the deluge, having no 
past, no history, no tradition, no ties to bind them 
to any country—nothing, in fact, pertaining to an 
actual and living people. The new doctrines 
opposed to cosmopolitanism a distinctively national 
sentiment. They treated history with respect, tra- 
ditions with consideration, and restored so far as 
possible what the eighteenth century had destroyed. 

It is a remarkable fact that at the very time 


CONCLUSION. 479 


when this reaction was triumphing in France, 
French philosophy drew its chief inspiration from 
foreign sources——Scotch and German. With 
Auguste Comte it resumed a national, and at the 
same time a Cartesian, direction; yet even Comte 
felt the influence of the traditionalist current. To 
this influence is due his partiality for Joseph de 
Maistre, his enthusiastic admiration for the Catholic 
organisation of the Middle Ages, and his contempt 
for many of the eighteenth century ‘‘ philosophers, ’’ 
who, in his opinion, merely completed a task already 
more than half accomplished, the result of it purely 
destructive. Since that time French philosophy, 
in its various forms, has been controlled in part by 
the spirit of the eighteenth century, persisting in its 
critical tendency, and in part by the reconstruc- 
tive movement, which, according to the historian 
Ranke, is characteristic of our own century. This 
divided attitude may be one of the causes of its 
weakened influence over the mass of minds. 

Yet, whatever be the political future of civilised 
nations, significant symptoms already show that 
‘‘national philosophies’’ are on the decline. While 
the French genius, as well as the English and the 
German genius, has played its special part in the 
evolution of modern European philosophy, it seems 
that this part is soon to be reduced to that of merely 
an important factor in a common development. 
Already positive science (to which philosophy is so 
closely allied) knows no frontiers; it is purely inter- 
national. It is the same with sociology, with scien- 


x9 


480 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


tific psychology, which is cultivated at the same time 
and by similar methods, in Germany, the United 
States, England, and France; the same is also true 
of logic and the theory of knowledge. We are 
progressing towards a state of things in which 
there shall no longer be any French, English, Ger- 
man, or American philosophy, but only one philos- 
ophy common to civilised mankind. Thus it was 
inthe Middle jAgess-s Since” then, windeediminder 
the influence of many causes, particularly of the 
organisation of the great European nations, philos- 
ophy, like literature and art, has assumed a 
national character, and each great nation has had 
its own original thinkers, as it had its writers and 
artists. But the day seems at hand when this 
national character will again be lessened and when 
philosophy will no longer bear geographical labels. 

What will be the part of France in the common 
philosophical work of the future? An answer to 
this question would necessarily be daring, since so 
much depends upon a factor that cannot be antici- 
pated, the appearance of one of those men of genius 
who carry the human mind astep forward. At any 
rate, the country which gave birth to such men as 
Descartes, Malebranche, Montesquieu, Diderot, and 
Auguste Comte may hope to supply still more 
leaders to the sacred legion of mankind. But it is 
perhaps less bold to inquire what direction the evo- 
lution of philosophy is likely to take. It really 
seems as if the old forms of metaphysics—I do not 
mean metaphysics itself—were tending gradually to 


CONCLUSION. A8I 


disappear, in spite of the efforts and talent bestowed 
upon their renovation. Their apparatus for demon- 
stration is outgrown, for criticism in the last two cen- 
turies has shown what its faults were, and made it 
ineffective. But from this very criticism there 
may issue a theory of knowledge, scientifically 
established, and from this theory of knowledge, 
perhaps, a new science of metaphysics. 

History teaches us that philosophical revolutions 
are accomplished only by degrees, and that crises 
which seem most violent to contemporaries may 
afterwards assume the aspect of slow transitions. 
Our time is no doubt a stage of the great transition 
by which the mind of man is passing on from the 
state in which religious dogma dominated his 
thought, to another state, to be realised in the 
future, which may also be religious, but in which 
dogma will no longer prevail. In this long strug- 
gle for enfranchisement, which is not accomplished 
consistently or continuously, but which implies 
spasmodic advances, fluctuations, and _ recoils, 
there have been several periods of stagnation. 
Repeated and serious attempts at reaction have 
been made in the nineteenth century; but we are 
justified in believing that these are mere incidents, 
the historical causes of them recognisable, affecting 
only temporarily the general progress of human 
development. Though this development takes 
place in obedience to laws, the transition from one 
stage to another is inevitably accompanied by a pro- 
found moral and social transformation. This trans- 


482 MODERN PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. 


formation can be achieved only with jars, painful 
friction, and even violent lacerations, and those 
who oppose it no doubt fulfil as important an office 
as those who labour to effect it. The incidents of 
this strife are reflected in the conflict of doctrines 
which characterises our time, and of this the present 
state of philosophy in France presents a faithful 
picture. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY OF MODERN FRENCH 
PH BOSO@ Ure: 


DESCAKLES, 
(1596-1650.) 
EDITIONS: 
Opera. Latin edition of his works. Amsterdam. 1650 ff. 
_ Oeuvres Completes. Ed. Cousin. Paris. 1824-26. 11 vol. 
in 8vo. 

Oeuvres Philosophiques. Ed. Garnier. Paris. 1834. 4 vol. 
in 8 vo. 

Oeuvres Completes. Ed. Ch. Adam et Tannery. Paris. In 
4to. (The first volume appeared in 1896, the second in 
1808.) 

Oeuvres Choisies. Ed. Jules Simon. 1 vol. Paris: Charpen- 
tier. 

Oeuvres Chotsies. Ed. Jules Simon. 1 vol. Paris: Garnier. 

The Method, Meditations, and Selections from the Principles. 
Translated into English by J. Veitch. 11th ed. Edin- 
burgh & London. 1897. 

Meditations. Translated into English by Lowndes. Lon- 
don. 1878. 

Latracts from Descartes’'s Writings: Rules for the Direction 
of the Mind, the Meditations (in part); the World, Pas- 
sions Of the woul, cic, PBY Tin Awa orrey.) (New. ork, 
1892. 

German Translations: (1) The Method, (2) the Principia, 
(3) the Passions of the Soul, (4) the Meditations. Heidel- 
berg: Georg Weiss. 1 or 4 vols. 

Discourse on Method: Authorised Reprint of Veitch’s Trans- 
lation. Chicago. The Open Court Publishing Company. 
1899. 


* The present bibliography has been prepared by the UE Ge for the conven- 
ience of students. It is not designed to be exhaustive. Only the best editions of 
the collected works of each philosopher are indicated, and the best, cheapest and 
most accessible single-volume editions, or epitomes, of their most representative 
productions. In each case, a number of volumes for reference and for collateral 
study, mostly in the French language, have been added. 


483 


4384 BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
fF. Boutllier. Histoire de la Philosophie Cartésienne. 2 vol. 
Paris. 1868. 
Liard. Descartes. Paris: Alcan. 1881. 
Foutllée. Descartes. Paris: Hachette. 1893. 
Revue de Métaphysique et de Morale. Descartes number. 


1806. 
Mahagy. Descartes. Edinburgh & Philadelphia. 1881. 
Wallace. Art. ‘ Descartes’’ in Encyclopedia Britannica. 


Schaarschmidt, C. Descartes and Spinoza. Bonn. 1850. 
Natorp, P. Descartes’ Erkenntnistheorie. Marburg. 1882. 


MALEBRANCHE. 
(1638-1715.) 
EDITIONS: 

Oenures” (Panis. (0712, 
Oeuvres. Ed. Jules Simon. 4 vol. Paris. 1871. 
De la Recherche de la Vérité. 2 vol. Paris: Charpentier. 

(English translation by Taylor, 1712.) 
Méditations Chrétiennes. vol. Paris: Charpentier. 
Entretiens Métaphysiques. ivol. Paris: Charpentier. 
Traité de Morale. Ed. H. Joly. Paris. 1882. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Abbé Blampignon. ¥tude sur Malebranche, suivie d’une 
Correspondance inédite. Paris. 1863. 
L. Ollé-Laprune. La Philosophie de Malebranche. 2 vol. 
Parisswiitore. 


PASCAL. 
(1623-1662.) 
EDITIONS: | 

Les Provinctales. 1656-57. 

Pensées. (1) Edition de Port Royal, 1670; (2) Ed. de Con- 
dorcet, 1776; (3) Ed. de Bossut, 1779; (4) Ed. de Faugeére 
(the first edition conforming to the manuscript), 1844; (5) 
Ed. de Havet, 1851; (6) Ed. de Astié, Paris et Lausanne, 
1857; (7) Ed. de Rocher, Tours: Mame, 1873; (8) Ed. de 
Molinier, Lemerre, 1877; (9) Ed. de Brunschvicg, Paris, 
1897. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 485 


Thoughts. ‘English translation by C. Kegan Paul. London. 
1885. 

Provincial Letters. English translation. London. 1889. 

Pensées. 1 vol. Paris: Garnier. 

Lrowineiales. “1.Vole» Faris? Garnier. 

Lettres, Opuscules et Mémotres de Madame Périer et de Jac- 
gueline, Soeurs de Pascal, et de Marguerite Périer, sa 
Niéce. Publiés par M. Faugére. Paris. 1845. 


FOR REFERENCE: 

Sainte-Beuve. Port-Royal. Paris. 1878. 

A. Vinet. Ftudes sur Pascal. Paris. 1848. 

J. Bertrand. Pascal. Paris. 1890. 

V. Cousin. Jacqueline Pascal. 

Droz. Etude sur le Scepticisme de Pascal. Paris. 1886. 
Tulloch. Pascal. Edinburgh & London. 1878. 


BAYLE., 
(1647-1706.) 
EDITIONS: 
Dictionnaire Historique & Critique. Rotterdam. 1697. 2 
vol. in folio. 3@me éd., 1820. 4 vol. in folio. 
Oeuvres Diverses. La Haye. 1738. 4 vol. in folio. 
Chowx de la Correspondance inédite de P. Bayle. Publié par 
E.Gigas. Copenhague et Paris. 1850. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Ludwig Feuerbach. P. Bayle. Leipzig. 1844. 
A, Deschamps. La Genése du Scepticisme érudit chez Bayle. 
Lieges 1370; 


FONTENELLE, 
(1657-1757.) 
EDITIONS: 
Oeuvres Completes. (1) Paris, 1758, 11 vol.; (2) Paris, 1790, 
8 vol.; (3) Paris, 1825, 5 vol. 
Eloges. 1 vol. Paris: Garnier. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Sainte-Beuve. Causeries du Lundi. Vol. III. 


486 BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


MONTESQUIEU. 
(1689-1755.) 
EDITIONS: 

Oeuvres Completes. Ed. Richer. Paris. 1758. 
Oeuvres Completes. Ed. Laboulaye. Paris. 1875-79. 7 vol. 
LEsprit des Lots. 1 vol. Paris: Garnier. 
Lettres Persanes. vol. Paris: Garnier. 
Constdérations sur les Causes de la Grandeur & de la Deé- 

cadence des Romains. 1vol. Paris: Garnier. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
A, Sorel. Montesquieu. Paris. 1887. 


VOLTAIRE. 
(1694-1778.) 
EDITIONS: 
Oeuvres Completes. YEd. Beuchot. Paris. 1828. 70 vol. 
Oeuvres Complétés. Ed. Avenel. Paris. 1867. 8 vol., in 
4to. 
Oeuvres Completes. Ed. Moland. Paris. 1877. 50 vol. 


FOR REFERENCE: 

Condorcet.. Vie de: Voltaire.’ |Genéve.” 1787." Paris;)1820) 

Longchamp & Wagniére. Mémoires sur Voltaire & ses 
Ouvrages. 2vol. 1825. 

Bersot. La philosophie de Voltaire. Paris. 1848. 

Du Bots Reymond. Voltaire in seiner Beziehung zur Natur- 
wissenschaft. Berlin. 1868. 

LITE Ot7 Gussie V Oltalrewe Oav Oftlag Cam LCL Zl sulo 72, 

£. Saigey. La Physique de Voltaire. Paris. 1873. 

G. Maugras. Voltaire et J.J. Rousseau. Paris. 1886. 

Desnotresterres. Voltaire ét la Société Francaise au XVIII*. 
Siécle. Paris. 1867-76. 

John Morley. Voltaire. London & New York. 1872. 


LA METTRIE. 


(1709-1751.) 
EDITIONS: 
Oeuvres Philosophigues. London & Berlin. 1751. 2 vol. 


in 4to. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 487 


Ll’ Homme-Machine. German Translation by Ritter: Der 
Mensch eine Maschine. Heidelberg: Georg Weiss. 1882. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
fr. A. Lange. Geschichte des Materialismus. Leipzig. 1896. 


JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
(1712-1778.) 
EDITIONS: 
Oeuvres Completes. Ed, Dupeyrou. 1782. 35 vol. 
Ocuvres Completes. F.d. Musset-Pathay. Paris. 1833. 8 
vol. 
Oeuvres & Correspondances Inédttes. Ed. Streckeisen-Moul- 
(Olig UMATISg clools 
Oeuvres Choisies. 1 vol. Paris: Garnier. 
Pages Choisies. Ed. Rocheblave. 1 vol. Paris: Colin. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Madame de Staél, Lettres sur le Caractére & les Ouvrages 
de J. J. Rousseau. 1788. 
Chuqguet. J. J. Rousseau. Paris. 1893. 
John Morley. Rousseau. London & New York. 
Thomas Davidson. Rousseau and Education According to 
Nature. New York. 1899. 


D’ALEMBERT. 
(1717-1783.) 
EDITIONS: 

Mélanges de Littérature, ad Histoire et de Philosophie. Paris. 
1752.7, 5° vols. 

Oeuvres Philosophiques, Historigues & Littératres. (1) Ed. 
Bastien. Paris. 1805. (18 vol. (2) Ed. Bossange. Paris. 
16215, VO: 

Opuscules Mathématigues. Paris. 1761-80. 8 vol. 

Oeuvres Chotstes. Paris. 1852. 

Oeuvres & Correspondances Inédites. ¥.d. Ch. Henry. Paris, 
1887. 

Discours Préliminaire a l Encyclopédie. Ed. Picavet. 1 
vol. Paris: Colin. 


488 BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Condorcet. Eloge. Paris. 1784. 
J. Bertrand. D’Alembert. Paris. 1880. 
A, De Morgan. In the English Cyclopedia, Art. “Alem- 
bert, Jean-Le-Rond D’.” Vol. V. 


DIDEROT. 
(1713-1784.) 
EDITIONS: 
Ocuvres Completes. Ed. Assézat et Tourneux. Paris. 1875- 
79. 20 vol. 


Pages Chotstes. Ed. Pellissier. 1 vol. Paris: Colin. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Ed. Scherer. Diderot. Paris. 1880. 
L. Ducros. \Diderot. Paris. 1804. 
J. Reinach. Diderot. Paris. 1894. 
K. Rosenkranz. Diderot’s Leben und Werke. Leipzig. 1866. 
2 vol. 
J. Morley. Diderot. London & New York. 1886. 


D’HOLBACH. 
(1723-1789.) 
EDITIONS: 
Le Christianisme Dévotlé. Paris. 1756. 
Systeme dela Nature. 1770. 2 vol. 


FOR REFERENCE: : 
Fr. A, Lange. Geschichte des Materialismus. Leipzig. 


1806. 
Avezac-Lavinne. Diderot et la Société du Baron d’Holbach. 
1875. 
J. Morley. Diderot. 1878. 
HELVE-CIUS: 
(1715-1771.) 
EDITIONS: 


Oeuvres Completes. (1) 5 vol. London. 1781. (2) Io vol. 
Paris. 1796. An edition was also published in 1818. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Cousin. Oeuvres. Vol. II. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 489 


CONDILLAC, 
(1715-1780.) 
EDITIONS: 
Oeuvres Completes. (1) Paris. 1798. 23 vol. (2) Paris. 
1803. 32 vol. 


Traité des Sensations. Premiere Partie. Ed.  Picavet. 
Paris. 1885. German translation by Johnson. Heidel- 
berg: Georg Weiss. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Réthoré. Condillac. Paris. 1864. 
Dewaule. Condillac et la Psychologie anglaise contempo- 
Taine.) F arises loge: 
Laromiguiére. WLecons de Philosophie: Paradoxes de Con- 
dillac. 
Taine. Les Philosophes Frangais du X1Xe Siécle. Paris. 


CONDORCET. 
(1743-1794.) 
EDITIONS: 
Oeuvres Completes. Paris. 1847. 12 vol. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Dr. Robinet. Condorcet. Paris. 
John Morley. Critical Miscellanies. 
Comte. Cours de Philosophie Positive. Vol. IV. 
Arago. Biographie de Condorcet. 


DESTUTT DE TRACY. 
(1754-1836.) 
EDITIONS: 
Eléments @’Tdéologie. Paris.’ 1801. 
Commentaire sur l Esprit des Lots de Montesquieu. Paris, 
1817. (English translation by Thomas Jefferson.) 
Oeuvres Completes. Paris. 1824. 4 vol. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Picavet. Les Idéologues. Paris. 1891. 


490 BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


CABANIS. 
(1757-1808.) 
EDITIONS: 


Les Rapports du Physique & du Moral del Homme. Paris. 
1805. 2 vol. 
Oeuvres Completes. “Ed. Thurot. Paris. 1825. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Picavet. Les Idéologues. Paris. 1891. 


JOSE RHMD be MAIS Dinis; 
(1754-1821.) 
EDITIONS: 
Oeuvres Completes. Lyon. 1884-87. 14 vol. 
Les Sotrées de St. Pétersbourg. Paris: Garnier. 2 vol. 
Du Pape. Paris: Charpentier. ; 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Fr. Paulhan, J. De Maistre et sa Philosophie. Paris. 1893. 
Cogordan. J. De Maistre. Paris. 


DE BONALD. 
(1754-1840.) 
EDITIONS: 
Oeuvres Complétes. Paris. 1857-75. 12 vol. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Damiron. Philosophie en France au X1X® Siécle. 
De Bonald. Notice sur M.le Vicomte De Bonald. 1841. 


MAINE DE BIRAN. 
(1766-1824.) 
EDITIONS: 
Ocuvres Posthumes. Ed. Cousin. Paris. 1841. 3 vol. 
Pensées. ¥ed. Naville. Paris. 1857. 
Oeuvres Inédites, Fd. Naville. Paris. 1859. 3 vol. 
Science & Psychologie. Ed. Bertrand. Paris. 1887. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 491 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Merten. ¥tude Critique sur Maine de Biran. 1865. 
Gérard. Maine de Biran. Essai sur sa Philosophie. Paris. 
1876. 
L Marillier. Maine de Biran. Paris. 1893. 


COUSEN: 
(1792-1867.) 
EDITIONS: 
Oeuvres Completes. Paris. 1846-47. 22 vol. 
Du Vrai, du Beau & du Bien, Paris. 1872. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Pierre Leroux. Réfutation de l’Eclectisme. Paris. 1839. 
Paul Janet. Victor Cousin et son Oeuvre. Paris. 1885. 
Jules Simon. Victor Cousin. Paris. 1887. 
Dictionnatre des Sciences Philosophiques. 2nd edition. Art. 
“ Cousin.” 


JOUFFROY. 
(1796-1842.) 
EDITIONS: 
Cours de Droit Naturel, Paris. 1834. 2 vol. 
Meélanges Philosophiques. Paris. 1833. 
Cours ad’ Esthétique. Ed. Damiron. Paris. 1843, 
Nouveaux Mélanges Philosophiques. Paris. 1842. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
L. Ollé-Laprune, Th. Jouffroy. Paris. 1899. 


SAINT-SIMON. 
(1760-1825 .) 
EDITIONS: 
Oeuvres Chotstes. Fd. Lemonnier. Bruxelles. 1859-1861. 
3 vol. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Paul Janet. Saint-Simon et le Saint-Simonisme. Paris. 1879. 
G. Wetll. Saint-Simon et son Oeuvre. Paris. 1804. 


492 BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


CHARLES FOURIER, 
(1772-1837.) 
EDITIONS: 
Théorie des Quatre Mouvements. Lyon. 1808. 2 vol. 
Le nouveau Monde Industriel, Paris. 1830. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Pellarin. Y¥ourier, sa Vie et sa Théorie. Paris. 1872. 


A: COMTE. 
(1798-1857.) 
EDITIONS: : 
Cours de Philosophie Positive. Paris. 1894. 6 vol. 
Discours sur ’ Esprit Positif. Paris. 1898. 
Systéme de Politigue Posttive. Paris. 1851-4. 4 vol. 


The Positive Philosophy of A. Comte Freely Translated and 


Condensed. By Miss H. Martineau. London. 1853. 2 
vol. | 
Rigolage (Rig, Jules.) Cours de Philosophie Positive. Epit- 
ome. Paris. 1896. 


FOR REFERENCE: 


Robinet. Notice sur 1’ Oeuvre et la Vied’ A. Comte. Paris. 


1860. 
Littré. A. Comte et la Philosophie Positive. Paris. 1877. 
Gruber. A. Comte der Begriinder des Positivismus. Frei- 

Duron a1sso: 

De Roberty. A.Comte et Herbert Spencer. Paris. 1894. 
Wantig. A.Comte und seine Bedeutung fiir die Entwick- 

lung der Socialwissenschaften. Leipzig. 1894. 
J. S. Mill, Comte & Positivism. London. 1865. 
£. Caird, The Social Philosophy and Religion of Comte. 

Glasgow. 1885. 


J. Watson. Comte, Mill, and Spencer. An Outline of Phi- 


losophy. 2nd edition. New York. 1899. 


TAINE. 
(1828-1893.) 
EDITIONS: 
Les Philosophes Frangats du XIX° Siécle. Paris. 1895. 
Philosophie del Art. Paris. 1881. 2 vol. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 493 


Dellntelligence, Paris, 1895. 2 vol. 

Flistotre de la Littérature Anglaise. Paris. 5 vol. 

Les Origines de la France Contemporaine. Paris. 1876-93. 
5 vol. 


FOR REFERENCE: 
Awde d/l arvceria, Vlainew Parise 1504. 
G. Monod. Renan, Taine, Michelet. Paris. 1894. 


RENAN. 
(1823-1892.) 
EDITIONS: 
Averroés & [Averroisme. Paris. 1859. 
Questions Contemporaines. Paris. 1868. 
Essats de Morale & de Critique. Paris. 1867. 
Dialogues & Fragments Philosophiques. Paris. 1895. (Eng- 
lish translation. 1883.) 
L’ Avenir dela Science. Paris. 1890. 
Les Origines du Christianisme. Paris. 1863-83. 7 vol. 
Etudes a Histoire Religieuse. Paris. 
Vie de Jésus. Paris. 1863. (English translation by Wilbour.) 
Pages Chotstes. 1 vol. Paris: Colin. 


FOR REFERENCE: 

Séatlles. E. Renan. Paris. 1894. 

Allier. a Philosophie d’Ernest Renan. Paris. 1895. 
G. Monod. Renan, Taine, Michelet Paris. 1894. 


GENERAL REFERENCE WORKS ON THE HISTORY 
OF FRENCH PHILOSOPHY IN THE XVIII 
AN DYXTXY GEN EURIES: 


1, EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 


Damiron. Mémoires pour servir 4 |’Histoire de la Philos- 
ophie en’ France au XVIII* Siécle.. Paris. 1858-64. 3 
vol. 

Brunel, Les Philosophes et Académie Francaise au 
XVIIIe Siécle. Paris. 1884. 

Lerminier. De VInfluencede la Philosophie du XVIIIe 
Siécle sur la Législation et la Sociabilité du XIX*. Paris. 


1833. 


AQ4 BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


Lanfrey. VEglise et Les Philosophes au XVIII° Si&cle. 
Paris. 1857. 

Frank. La Philosophie Mystique en France au XVIII° 
Siccie, Parisetsoo. 

Ferraz. Histoire de la Philosophie pendant la Révolution 
Francaise. Paris. 1890. 

Faguet. Dix-huitiéme Siécle. Paris. 

Brunetiére. Histoire & Littérature. Paris. 

Brunetiére. Questions de Critique. Paris. 

Brunetidre. Nouvelles Questions de Critique. Paris. 


11. NINETEENTH CENTURY. 


Damiron. Essai sur Histoire de la Philosophie en France 
AUP NUNC SICClEe Paris maLoz4dy 

L. Reybaud. Etudes sur les Réformateurs ou Socialistes 
Modernes. Paris. 1864. 2 vol. 

L. Von Stein. Geschichte der socialen Bewegung in Frank- 
reich. 1842-48, 2 vol. 

H. Taine. Les Philosophes Francais du X1X¢ Siécle. Paris. 


1895. 

F. Ravaisson. Wa Philosophie en France au XIX° Siécle. 
Paris. 1889. 

P. Janet. Les Origines du Socialisme Contemporain. Paris. 
1883. 


Ferraz. Etudes sur la Philosophie en France au XIX° 
Siécle. Paris. 1882-89. 3 vol. 

E. Faguet. Dix-neuviéme Siécle. Paris. 1887. 

E. Faguet. Politiques et Moralistes du XIX Siécle. Paris. 
1881. 

H. Michel. Lidée de l’Etat. Paris. 1896. 

Ch. Adam. La Philosophie en France. Premiére Moitié 
du XIX° Siécle. Paris. 1894. 


INDEX. 


Aesthetics, contemporary, list of 
writers in, 466. 

‘Affective life,’’ Biran’s theory of, 
324. 

Agnosticism, 102. 

Aguesseau, D’, 161. 

Alembert, D’, 139, 211-219, 222. 239, 
353, 395, 469. 

Ampétre, 322. 

Apperception, pure, Cousin’s notion 
of, 337. 

Aristotle, 67, 89, 152. 

Arnauld and Nicole, rog. 

Associationists, 433. 

Augustine, 44, 95. 

Avenir de la Science, L’, 397, 404, 408, 


415. 


Bach, J.S., 54. 

Bacon, 4, 68, 81, 82, 179, 212, 214, 281, 
285, 315, 316, 423, 432, 469. 

Bain, 433. 

Ballanche, 320, 472. 

Bayle, 106, 107-125; a precursor of 
Rationalism, 125; 172, 175, 185, 198, 
353- 

Bazard, 353. 

Berkeley, 76, 469. 

Bernard, Claude, 460 

Bernouilli, 222, 288. 

Bersot, 350, 439. 

Berthelot, 460, 46r. 

Bibliotheque de Philosophie Contem- 
poraine, 466. 

Bichat 325, 372, 395. 

Biran, Maine de, 305, 311, 321-330, 
350, 400. 

Boerhaave, 209. 


Boileau’s Arrét burlesque, 39. 
Bonald, De, 312-313, 320, 342. 
Bonnet, Charles, 322. 
Bossuet, 51, 105, 106, 109, 201, 307. 
Bouillier, 439. 

Boutroux, 445. 

Boyle, 41. 

Bradley, 288. 

Brochard, 451. 

Buddhist metaphysics, 325. 
Buffon, 139, 240, 276, 277, 288. 
Burdin, Dr., 359. 

Burnouf, 398, 406. 


Cabanis, 303, 306-311, 322, 324, 325, 
330, 373, 387, 395. 

Candide, 118, 185, 202. 

Caro, 350, 439. 

Cartesianism, 38-44, 433. 

Catherine II , 219. 

Causes Premtéres, 
SUT, 310. 

Chinese religion, 188. 

Christianity, Pascal’s argument for, 
102; Voltaire’s hostility toward, 
192; Renan’s relation to, 412. 

Christian, Rousseau’s ideal of a, 253. 

Ctuzl Government, On, (Locke), 143. 

Clark, 184. 

Classification of the Sciences, ac- 
cording to Comte, 370. 

Cogito, ergo sum, 15. 

Collins, 171. 

Comte, 31, 138, 145, 214, 268, 311, 312, 
320, 355, 359-396; his three modes 
of thought, 363-370; 400, 407, 418, 
423, 438, 447, 460, 470, 471, 474, 477, 
479, 480. 


Lettre 2 Fauriel 


496 


Condillac, 33, 139, 207, 217, 221, 228, 
234, 239, 240, 245, 271-287, 289, 304, 
308, 309, 315, 322, 323, 326, 330, 333, 
374, 422, 432, 434, 470, 471, 472, 475, 
477. 

Condorcet, 70, 207, 288-302, 303, 318, 
355, 359, 372, 381, 394, 395, 475- 

Confession d’un Enfant du Sidcle, 349. 

Confucius, 188. 

Conseils a un Journaliste, 201. 

Considérations sur les Causes de la 
Grandeur et de la Décadence des 
Romains, 166. 

Copernicus, 370. 

Corpuscular philosophy, 127. 

Cosmopolitanism, Voltaire on 200. 

Cournot, 457-459, 470. 

Cousin, 321, 323, 325, 330-351, 374, 400, 
422, 431. 

Criticism, 447, 450, 459. 

Critique des Systémes de Morale Con- 
temporaines, 455. 

Critique of Pure Reason, 35, 85, 93. 


Dante, 385. 

Darwin, 319, 438. 

Dauriac, 451. 

Deist, Voltaire a, 184, 

Delacroix, 341. 

Democritus, compared with Descar- 
eS 7- 

Descartes, 1-37; his attitude toward 
his predecessors, 1-6; emphasizes 
ethics, 7; discovers analytical ge- 
ometry, 10; his rule of evidence 
11; excepts religion and politics 
from the sphere of philosophy, 
13; opinion of the experimental 
method, 29; close of his life, 32; 
influence of his philosophy, 33; in- 
cidental references, 45, 46, 51, §2, 
53, 50, 57, 65, 66, 68, 69, 76, 81, 82, 83, 
85, 86, 88, 89, 98, 105, 107, 109, 126, 
129, 134, 146, 169, 172, 178, 179, 190, 
209, 218, 273, 327, 329, 347, 376, 394 


400, 443, 469, 470, 474, 475, 476, 478, 
480. 


Dialogues Concerning Natural Relz- 
Lion, 184, 


INDEX. 


Dialogues Philosophiques, 397, 408, 416. 

Dictionary, Bayle’s, 124. 

Dictionnatre philosophique, 200. 

Diderot, 139, 171, 208, 219-227, 229, 
234, 240, 245, 248, 276, 319, 395, 480. 

Discours dela Méthode, 10, 38, 172. 

Discours Préliminatre, 211. 

Discours sur l’ Histoire Universélle, 
106. 

Dogmas, Voltaires attack upon, 189, 

Dominique Loricat, 414. 

Drames Philosophiques, 397. 

Durkheim, 464. 


Eclecticism, 330-351, 438, 440. 

Education, viewed by Rousseau, 245, 
265; aim of, according to Comte, 
389. 

Ego, the, Maine de Biran’s theory of, 
326. 

Eighteenth century in philosophy 
contrasted with the seventeenth, 
107; De Maistre's judgment on, 314, 
philosophical schools in, 332. 

Eléments de la Philosophie de Newton, 
178. 

Eloges, 289. 

Emile, 230. 

Empiricism, 426, 445. 

‘¢Encased germs,”’ theory of, 52. 

Encyclopedia, 139, 208. 

Encyclopezdists, 171, 196, 207-235, 271. 
289, 311, 345. 

Enfantin, 353. 

England, Montesquieu’s admiration 
for, 161; Woltaire’s fondness for, 
172. 

Entretien avec la Maréchale de * * *, 
225. 

Entretiens sur la métaphysique, 75. 

Entretiens sur la Pluralité des Mondes 
128. 

Entretien, sur Epictete et Montaigne, 
94. 

Epicurus, 40, 413. 

Epictetus, 89, 90, 91, 93. 

Espinas, 464. 

Esprit, Del’, 227. 


INDEX. 


Esprit des Lots, L', 139, 141, 142, 145, 
147, I5I, 154, 160, 163, 165, 166. 

Essai sur les Maeurs, 201, 204. 

Essai sur l’ Origine des Connaissances 
huntaines, 272. 

Essats de Critique Général, 447, 

Essay on the Understanding, 174, 214. 

Ethics, Diderot’s, 225; Rousseau’s 
255; Comte’s, 385-389, Renan’s, 413. 

Euler, 222, 288. 

Evil, the problem of, viewed by Vol- 
taire, 185; by Rousseau, 238; by 
Condorcet, 295. 


Faith and reason, their relation ac- 
cording to Bayle, 112 ff. 

Femmes Savantes, Les, 38. 

Fénelon, 56, 105, 109. 

Fichte, 21, 341. 

Flaubert, 434. 

Fontenelle, 106, 125-138, 172, 180, 182, 
193 381, 469, 477. 

Fouillée, 443, 452-457. 

Fourier, 357, 362. 

Frank, 439. 

Franklin, 288. 

Frederick the Great, 196, 219, 234, 298. 

Free will, Cousin’s view of, 345. 


Galileo, 1, 40. 

Gall, 373, 387. 

Garnier, Ad., 350, 431. 

Gassendi, 40, 107, 

God, Descartes’s demonstration of, 
16; Malebranche’s notion of, 54- 
63; D’Holbach’s criticism of, 232; 
Voltaire’s argument for a, 179; 
Rousseau’s view of, 249; Condil- 
lac’s proof of, 286; De Bonald’s 
idea of, 312; Cousin’s notion of, 
342; Comte’s notion of, 389; Re- 
nan’s idea of, 408. 

Goethe, 201, 227, 246. 

Goncourt, 427, 434. 

Government, nature of according to 
Montesquieu, 151, 

Gratry, Father, 399. 

Grotius, 143. 

Guizot, 346. 

Guyau, 456. 


497 


Haller, 288. 

Harrington, 143. 

Harvey, 1. 

Hegel, 1, 339, 343, 346, 350, 407, 416, 


423, 434, 444, 448, 469. 
Helmholtz, 218. 


Helvetius, 199, 227-231, 239, 318. 

Herder, 201, 421. 

fistotre des Oracles, 131. 

Histotre du Peuple d’ Israel, 397. 

Histotre Naturelle de [ Ame, 209. 

History, as treated by Fontenelle, 
133. 

History of English Literature, 429. 

History of philosophy, list of con- 
temporary writers in, 466. 

History, Universal, Voltaire’s no- 
tion of, 200. 

Hobbes, 4, 143, 150, 151. 

Holbach, D’, 231-234, 246. 

Hométie sur l’ Athéisme, 185. 

Hlomme-Machine, 209. 

Hugo, V., 341, 420. 

Humanity, Comte’s idea of, 389-392. 

Hume, 21, 33, 67, 76, 184, 217, 425, 447, 
448. 

Huxley, 392. 


Ideas, Malebranche’s notion of, 48, 
53. 

Idées forces, 453. 

Ideologists, the, 303-311, 322, 332, 422, 
433. 

Imitation of Christ, The, 385. 

Immortality, Comte’s notion of, 391. 
Renan’s view of, 410. 

Instinct, Condillac’s doctrine of, 278, 

Intelligence, De £', 430. 

International law, Montesquieu on, 
164. 

Inward Light, the, in Rousseau, 246, 


Jacobi, 344. 

Janet, Paul, 439. 

Janet, Pierre, 324, 350. 

Jansenists, 39, 95, 212. 

Jesuits, 32, 40, 212. 

Jesus a theist, according to Voltaire, 
19I, 391. 


498 


Jouffroy, 349, 431. 
Jussieu, 288. 


Kant, 4, 21, 35, 51, 67, 72, 76, 85, 92, 93, 
99, 164, 169, 183, 201, 218, 256, 325, 
327, 328, 332, 336, 337, 344, 381, 409, 
417, 434, 437, 438, 441, 443, 445, 447- 
453, 469. 

Kepler, 370. 


Lachelier, 444. 

Laffitte, 441. 

Lagrange, 222. 

Lamarck, 438. 

Lamartine, 341. 

Lamennais, 320, 342, 361, 399. 

La Mettrie, 207, 209-211. 

Lang, Andrew, 134. 

Lange, F. A., 28. 

Language, Condillac’s doctrine of, 
279. 

Langue des Calculs, 272. 

La Rochefoucauld, 228. 

Laromiguiére, 330, 

Leewenhoek, 52. 

Leibniz, 4, 27, 36, 51, 52, 53, 62, 67, 75, 
96, 99, 107, 116, 118, 129, 185, 190, 322, 
324, 326, 388, 438, 441, 445, 446. 

Lettres Anglaises, 172, 179. 

Lettres Persanes, 139, 141, 147, 150, 157, 
163, 164, 166. 

Lettre sur les Aveugles, 211. 

Leroux, Pierre, 357. 

Lévéque, 439. 

‘‘ Libertines,’’ 171. 

Littré, 393, 441. 

Locke, 21, 33, 36, 143, 160, 172, 175, 190, 
205, 209, 214, 217, 221, 226, 230, 248, 
272, 286, 287, 291, 315, 332, 469, 472. 

Logic, contemporary, list of writers 
in, 465. 

Logiqgue, La (of De Tracy), 305. 

Lombroso, 465. 

Louis XIV., 157. 


Maistre, Joseph de, 309, 312, 313-320, 
340, 342, 354, 361, 394, 479. 

Malebranche, 21, 36, 44-76; summary 
of his work, 75; 80, 95, 107, 123, 172, 


INDEX. 


238, 815, 321, 327, 403, 410, 412, 469, 
480. 

Mandeville, 200. 

Manicheans, 116, 118. 

Marcus Aurelius, 413, 424. 

Maupertuis, 178. 

Méditations chrétiennes, 61. 

Mémoire sur tl’ Habitude, 322. 

Metaphysics, Voltaire’s, 178. 

Metaphysics, contemporary, list of 
writers in, 465. 

Métaphysique et la Sctence, La, 350. 

Micromégas, 175. 

Middle Ages, Voltaire’s view of the, 
203; 293, 347, 373, 381; Comte on, 384, 

Mill, J. S., 217, 373, 426, 433, 434. 

Miracles, Renan’s view of, 410, 

Montaigne, 6, 31, 75, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 
gg, IOI, 147. 

Montesquieu, 139-168; his circum- 
stances, 140; his travels, 142; his 
great thought, 144; 229, 313, 372, 395; 
474, 477, 480. 

Morality, the basis of, according to 
Voltaire, 199. 


Moral philosophy, contemporary, 
list of writers in, 465. 
More, 143. 


Musset, A. de, 349. 
Myths, Cults, and Religions, 134. 


Nature, the state of, according to 
Rousseau, 240. 

Naville, 321. 

Neveu de Rameau, Le, 225. 

Newton, 33, 41, 128, 172, 175, 178, 780, 
232, 370, 378, 470. 

Nicole, 238. 

Nouveaux Essais ad’ Anthropologie, 
330. 

Nouvelles de la République des Lettres, 
Tir. 


Occasional causes, Malebranche’s 
doctrine of, 64. 

Oratorians, 39, 44. 

Orders, Malebranche’s theory of, 54. 

Origines du Christianisme, 397, 419. 


INDEX. 


Paroles dun Croyant, 399. 

Pascal, 42, 77-106; as natural philos- 
opher, 81; as moral philosopher, 
89; 109, 136, 192, 278, 347, 381, 469. 

Passions de l’ Ante, 22, 32. 

Penal judicature, 161. 

Pensées, Pascal’s, 77, 79, 86, 94, 100, 
103, 347. 

Philosophe Ignorant, 17%. 

Philosophie de l’ Art, La, 430, 431. 

Philosophy, contemporary, 438. 

Pillon, 451. 

Plato, 23, 45, 53, 58, 152, 169, 173, 218, 
325, 335, 339, 347, 391, 414, 452. 

Plotinus, 339. 

Poem on the Earthquake at Lisbon 
250, 

Politique Postttve, 392. 

Positivism, 224, 359-396, 459. 

Princesse de Babylone, La, 202. 

Proclus, 347. 

Progress, the central idea of Con- 
dorcet’s doctrine, 293. 

Proudhon, 357. 

Psychology, contemporary, list of 
writers in, 465. 

Pufendorf, 143. 

Pyrrhonism, 97, 99, 100, 124. 


Quesnay, 234. 
Questions sur l' Encyclopédie, 203. 


Quinet, 472. 


Ranke, 479. 

Rapports du Physique et du Moral 
306, 325. 

Ravaisson, 441. 

Raynol, Abbé, 207. 

Reason, Cousin’s definition of, 335. 

Recherche de la Vérité, La, 45, 74. 

Reid, 332, 336, 350. 

Religion, Natural, expounded by Vol- 
taire, 186; by Rousseau, 254. 

Renaissance, I, 3, 

Renan, 350, 397-421; review of his 
philosophy, 417-421. 

Renouvier, 358, 439, 447-452, 470. 

Réve de D' Alembert, Le, 248. 

Revolution, French, 305, 319, 331, 351, 


352. 


499 


Ribot, 462-463. 

Richelieu, Montesquieu’s hatred of, 
157. 

Romanticism, 340. 

Rousseau, 139, 155, 164, 199, 205, 226, 
230, 234, 236-270, 271, 277, 281, 289, 
357; 420, 471. 

Royer-Collard, 323, 331. 


St. Martin, 472. 

Saint-Simon, 353-357, 360, 362, 378, 
384. 

Saisset, 350. 

Scheffer, Ary, 341. 

Schelling, 337, 339, 341, 346, 438, 441, 
442, 444. 

Schlegel, A. W., 341. 

Schleiermacher, 421. 

Scholasticism, 4, 42, 45. 

Schopenhauer, 325, 462. 

Science, DeMaistre’s attitude toward, 
316; Comte’s notion of, 375-378; 
Renan’s notion of, 404. 

Sciences, philosophy of the, list of 
contemporary writers in, 466. 

Scotch school, 344. 

Secrétan, 442. 

Sensations, Condillac’s doctrine of 
the, 274. 

Sensations, Traité des, 276. 

Senses, Malebranche’s view of, 46. 

Sévigné, Madame de, 38. 

Shaftesbury, Earl of, 187, 221. 

Sidney, 143. 

Simon, Jules, 350. 

Smith, Algernon, 160, 

Social Reformers, 352-359. 

Society, Rousseau’s view of, 261. 

Socinians, 187. 

Sociology, Comte’s theory of, 380- 
382; contemporary, 463, list of 
writers in, 466. | 

Soul, Descartes’s definition of, 24; our 
knowledge of, in Malebranche’s 
doctrine, 68; Voltaire on the, 177; 
Condillac on the, 286. 

Sourds Muets, Sur les, 221. 

Sparta, viewed by Rousseau, 265. 


500 


Spencer, Herbert, 333, 371, 373, 433 
438. 

Spinoza, 36, 51, 60, 76, 105, 169, 179, 
388, 423, 432, 434. 

Stendhal, 311, 427. 

Stewart, Dugald, 350. 

Stoicism, 31, 74, 89. 

Supplément au Voyage de Bougain- 
ville, 225. 

Swammerdam, 52. 

Systéme dela Nature, Le, 231. 


Tableau des Progrés de l' Esprit Hu- 
main, Esguisse ad’un, 290. 

Tacitus, 160. 

Taine, 161, 311, 421-435. 

Tarde, 464. 

Theism, discussed by Voltaire, 187. 

Théléme, Abbey of, 413. 

Théodicée, 116. 

Theology and philosophy, their rela- 
tion according to Bayle, 112. 

Théorie des Quatre Mouvements, 357. 

Thierry, A., 353. 

Three Stages, Law of the, Comte’s 
382. 

Toleration, religious, Montesquieu’s 
argument for, 163. 


INDEX. 


Torricelli, r. 

Touch, Condillac’s view of the sense 
of, 274. 

Tracy, Destutt de, 303-306. 

Traditionalists, the, 311-320, 342, 362. 

Traité de Dynamique, 211. 

Traité de Métaphysique, 171. 

Tratté du Monde, 30. 

Tratté du Vide, 81. 

Troglodytes, the, 150. 

Turgot, 234, 289, 381. 


Vacherot, 349, 350, 439. 
Vigny, De, 341. 
Villemain, 346. 
“‘Vision in God,” 
doctrine of, 48, 58. 
Voltaire, 105, 112, 129, 139, 140, I4I, 
147, 158, 169-206, 207, 212, 218, 226, 
232, 234, 250, 256, 271, 289, 208, 315, 
479. 
Vortices, theory of, 30. 


Malebranche's 


Wolf, 4. 


Zadig,, 202. 
Zola; 434 


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